


For Every Step Forward

by KassandraScarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15 Years/Seasons Of Slow Burn, Angst, Canon Compliant, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester in Love, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester UST, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everyone Thinks They're Together, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 328
Words: 131,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23097166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: It's a long, hard journey, for sure, but Winchesters are good at taking the long road home.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 774
Kudos: 498





	1. Dare To Dream - Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I had the crazy idea of writing a coda to each and every damn episode *headdesk* Chuck help me see this through to the end. 
> 
> Huge thanks to everybody on the Wincest Discussion group chat for encouraging me to start this.

“So, you got time for a beer, or will you lose your glass slipper if you don’t get back in time?”

Sam had thought about it. On the one hand, being with Dean was making him feel weirdly exposed, not a feeling he usually associated with his brother- when he let himself think about him, that is. It made him feel like all the work he’d put in to reconstructing himself at college, into someone who was _normal_ , was all going to waste, like Sam was an onion and all of his layers that he’d accumulated to hide the inconsistencies in his cover story were being peeled back. 

On the other hand… It was Dean.

The adrenaline from their hunt, the rush of success that Sam was silently and _desperately_ trying to squash down, did not help matters. 

So he’d agreed and now they were both sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of the Impala, bottles in hand. It almost felt like old times, with their shoulders brushing against each other, Dean’s foot tapping mindlessly against his to a rhythm in his head, even their breathing almost in sync; four years back, they might have just been waiting for Dad to finish hustling and join them. 

“So, what’s she like?” Dean broke the silence. “You know, your… Your girl?”

“Jessica,” Sam reminded, with just a fissure of irritation that Dean was pretending not to remember her name. “You really wanna know?”

Dean shrugged and waved his hand in a ‘ _go on_ ' motion. 

Sam took a second to gather his thoughts. “She’s a dream,” he murmured. “We met in sophomore year, at a party. I’ve never clicked with anyone so quickly, even though we’re total opposites at times. She loves being the center of attention, hates mainstream music, can’t cook according to recipe books but gets by on her own wacky creations, super smart and never without a comeback. But she’s sweet too, you know, and she’s _such_ a mother hen.” He couldn’t help the small chuckle as he recalled the time he and Becky had fallen sick at the same time and Jess had strong-armed them both into their beds. “I fell in love with her so quickly that it was actually also a little scary. Like, it felt too good to be true.”

He turned to Dean, who was watching him. This close, Sam had no trouble reading the wistfulness in his eyes. Sometimes, he thought that if Dean weren’t so hell bent on living up to Dad’s expectations, then he’d probably realize that he wanted the same things Sam did. 

“I think you’d like her, you know,” he went on quietly. “I mean, if you got to know her… Maybe, after finding Dad, if you…” He’d never admit it, but part of him wanted Dean to approve of Jessica, approve of _Sam_ and this life he was making for himself. More than that, he wanted Dean to be a _part_ of that life. 

But that was a dream. And the weight of the ring box in his sweatshirt’s pocket was real. 

Dean cleared his throat, looking away. “Nah, Sammy, I don’t do well in cozy, apple pie settings, you know that. ‘Sides,” he drawled, mouth curling up into a smirk. “She'd probably think I'm trying to steal you away from her for more weekend trips.”

_I'm not unfaithful. I've never been._

_You will be._

Sam looked away too. On second thought, maybe he _shouldn’t_ try to reconcile Dean and his life. Otherwise, Dean would end up doing just that. And one of those _weekend trips_ would end up lasting forever. 


	2. Call Me Maybe? - Wendigo

The drive was silent. Until it wasn’t. Because Dean was apparently a masochist. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?” He asked. 

Sam shrugged. “Shoot.”

“If I’d gone missing and Dad came to you for help, would you have left with him?” _Stupid_ , he berated himself. 

Sam actually seemed to forget he was driving, staring at Dean for a full ten seconds. “What kind of a crap question is that?” He demanded. “Of course, I would have. Wouldn’t even have wasted time arguing.”

That made Dean frown. “You, not arguing with Dad? How would that have happened?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Because unlike you, Dad wouldn’t have broken into our- my apartment. He’d have called.”

“And you would have picked up?” Dean repeated the question he’d asked a week ago.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I would have. And…” He hesitated, shot a glance at him. “I would have picked up yours too.”

Dean looked out the window. “You sure about that, man?” He muttered. “Because I remember you saying something very different. What was it, Thanksgiving? ’03?” He turned back to his brother. 

Sam nodded along slowly. “I was pissed off at you, Dean,” he said in a small voice. “You took Dad’s side over me, you barely looked at me as I left, but then you show up like that, out of the blue, and you make a scene at the bar and…” He swallowed. “Do you even remember what you said to me that night? When I was trying to put your drunk ass into bed?”

Dean remembered alright. He may have been plastered, but the memory of Sam guiding him into a motel room, angry but still gentle, pushing him into bed and tucking him in before returning to his own dorms; it was all too clear. And so were his own words. 

“I remember,” he confirmed. “And I was gonna say it better in the morning, but you’d left. That’s why I called. And you told me to never call you again.”

Sam chuckled without amusement. “Like, I said, I was pissed off. I don’t know whether I was expecting you to listen to me, or hoping that you wouldn’t. I don’t know whether I was glad or disappointed when you ended up doing as I asked.”

“You never called either,” Dean pointed out. 

“After what I said to you, would you have picked if I’d called?” Sam asked, throwing his own words back at him. 

Dean made an affronted noise. “Of course, I would have.”

Sam exhaled, as if relieved. “There you are then. I would have picked up too.”

Dean blinked a couple times. “Sam, that makes no sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense,” Sam muttered in frustration. “Work it out, Dean.”

Dean turned away, hiding a smile into his shoulder. Riling Sam up had retained it’s charm. With his earlier doubts at a little ease, he wondered how long he’d be able to get away with pretending to remain clueless. 

Then, of course, Sam switched on the radio and the ear-grating sound of mainstream pop filled the car. 

“No!” Dean protested. “Hey, hey, hey, Sam, no, change it.” 

He reached out for a cassette, only to have his hand slapped away. “Your rules, Dean,” Sam taunted over the music. “Driver picks the music.”

Dean groaned. God damn annoying little brothers. 


	3. Lullaby - Dead In The Water

“So, what made you start talking again?”

Dean actually groaned. “Are we really talking about this? Can’t you play I Spy for churches instead?” He demanded, referring to the drawing of the house and church that Lucas had gotten them.

Well, tough. Sam wasn’t letting this go. “I’m just trying to understand, Dean, why do you relate to that kid so much? Now, you said, that you didn’t feel like talking after Mom. So…” He waved his hand in an inviting gesture.

Dean sighed. “If I tell you, will you shut up about it?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Shut up.” The retort was half-hearted.

Sam watched as Dean seemed to be lost in thought.

“It was you, I guess,” he finally said. There was a hint of bemusement in his voice, like he wanted to say _‘duh, what other reason, dumbass?’_

Sam stared at the side of his face. “What does that mean?” He asked. “I was a baby.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, it was a few nights before Dad packed us up from Lawrence and hit the road. You woke up, probably from a nightmare, and kept crying, for hours. It had only been a couple months since the fire. Dad couldn’t get you to calm down, no matter what. He put you in your crib for a minute to go heat up some milk for you. I picked you up myself and it felt like you were calming down a bit.”

Dean’s lips tugged up into a smile at the memory and Sam tracked the movement with fascination. “Then?”

“Then I thought that Mom would have sung to you. So that’s what I did.”

At that, Sam laughed lightly. Dean’s own smile widened, glancing over as he drove.

“You _sang_? Total silence for months and the first thing out of your mouth was a _lullaby_?” Sam could only imagine the flabbergasted look on Dad’s face, mixed in with gratitude and relief.

“Hey, it worked,” Dean boasted. “You shut up and Dad and I were able to get some sleep.”

Sam realized that none of the pained grief and tight anger that usually accompanied their Mother was currently present. The thought made him genuinely happy, something he hadn’t felt since leaving Palo Alto. “So, next time, I have a nightmare,” he started with a smirk.

Immediately, Dean took one hand off the steering wheel to hit him around the head. “You wake me up in the middle of the night for anything less than an Apocalypse, I’ll be singing something very different from Hey Jude,” he warned.

Sam grinned to himself and went back to watching out the window. The _'Sure, Sammy, any time'_ hidden beneath the threat was loud and clearly audible to him.


	4. Red Haze - Phantom Traveler

“I’ll get the snacks,” Sam said shortly. He practically leapt out of the car and Dean knew it was because he was trying to keep his tears from falling.

Dean himself didn’t feel like crying. As he filled up Baby’s tank, it occurred to him that what he was feeling was anger. At Dad. _Huh_. That didn’t happen often.

But right now? Knowing that Dad was okay and perfectly fine? Fine enough to take the time to make a new voice-mail? Just a couple days ago, at most? 

It pissed Dean off. Big time.

It had been two months since he and Sam had begun their search. Two months of constantly worrying, hiding their concern under the thin guise of jokes and cases and their own rebuilding relationship.

And Dad was… He was just… WHAT? What was he doing? Why wasn’t he just telling them what he wanted? Why put them through all this drama? Saving people was important, sure, but family was more so. Dad had taught them that, drilled it into their heads. So, why was he the one running from them?

“Dean!”

He started, looking up into concerned hazel eyes, and became aware of a dull throb in his right hand.

“Dean, breathe,” Sam was saying, firmly.

Dean tried, reacting to the command on instinct, and found that his lungs felt like they were burning.

“That’s it, in and out, slow,” Sam went on. He had one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the other rubbing up and down his back.

Dean felt surrounded by Sam’s new, Stanford-era hugeness and it felt weirdly... _Safe_. He found himself calming down, bit by bit.

“You punched the gas stand,” Sam said gently. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit the glass.”

Dean pursed his lips, shrugged his brother off. “You were quick.”

He got a raised eye brow in response. “I was gone for ten minutes,” he corrected. “I come back and you’re hyperventilating.”

Dean peered at him. Now that he was paying attention, he could see the reddened edges of Sam’s eyes, could hear the thickness of his voice.

“I was having a moment,” Dean said, by way of explanation.

“I could see that.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Wasn't going to ask.”

Sometimes, Dean wanted to throttle that knowing smugness out of his little brother.

Sam softened under his glare. “We’ll catch up to him,” he promised.

Dean rolled his eyes with an effort. “Of course, we will.” But as they got into the car, he wondered if he really believed that.


	5. Blood Stains Of The Past - Bloody Mary

Jessica. Burning on the ceiling. The fire blue. Sometimes red. 

" _Why, Sam?_ ” She begged. Sometimes she screamed. “ _WHY?_ ” 

Sam tried to reach her, tried to apologize. He always woke up before he could. 

“Sam, hey, take it easy,” Dean was saying. He was hovering over Sam, fingers pressing into his upper arms. 

Sam sucked in a long breath. “What is it?” 

Dean moved back to his own bed. “You tell me,” he shot back. “This one was worse than you’ve had since leaving Stanford. You were crying and thrashing about. And calling her name again.”

Sam sat up, mirroring Dean’s position, so they were face to face, knees to knees. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Guess this Bloody Mary thing brought it all back.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “No kidding,” he deadpanned. Then he sighed. “Look, Sam-”

“Dean, no.” Sam didn’t want to be sharp to his brother, not really. But he was on edge from the nightmare and Dean hadn’t let up about this since they’d left Toledo the day before. 

“You can’t say _no_ ,” Dean argued. “You can’t just pretend that everything’s okay with you.”

“I’m _not_ pretending, I know how screwed up I am, I just need time.”

“No, you need to talk about it,” Dean snapped. “You need to lay it all out and tell yourself that it wasn’t your fault.”

Sam buried his head in his hands. 

“And seriously,” Dean went on. “Since when do we keep secrets from each other, huh? You never-”

“Okay, fine!” Sam straightened, glaring now. “How about you go first? Why did _your_ eyes bleed?”

Dean froze, mouth falling open. “What?” He asked in a shocked whisper.

Sam didn’t let up. “What’s _your_ nasty little secret?” He demanded. “What did Mary have on _you_? You tell me, I’ll tell you.”

For a few minutes, the only other sound in the room was of them breathing. Dean dragged a hand down his face. It reminded Sam of when that same hand had cradled his face in frantic concern two nights ago. The memory made him soften. He already knew Dean wasn’t going to answer. 

Sure enough, Dean lay back on his pillow, turning his back to Sam. “Goodnight.”

Sam sighed. His nerves were still frayed, like he’d drunk too many cups of coffee. “Goodnight, Dean.” It looked like it was going to be another night of Friends reruns on TV. 


	6. The Face In My Mirror Haunts Me - Skin

Dean Winchester groaned. 

The shifter wearing his face waited for him to regain consciousness. 

“You know,” they said conversationally. “I’ve seen a lot of screwed up minds in my time, but you… Buddy, you take the cake.”

Dean started, jerking fully awake, and glared at them. “What the hell?” He expressed, wincing in pain, but keeping a brave face. “I know I'm a pretty good-looking bastard, but that doesn't mean it's okay to steal my face.”

The shifter rolled their new green eyes. “And there's the machismo to cover up your nervousness. You are _so_ textbook.” They dragged a chair over, straddled it backwards in front of his tied-up captive. “I mean, the daddy issues, the fear of abandonment, the off-the-charts neediness for your _little brother_ , of all people? That ain't healthy. Neither is your almost single-minded obsessiveness over him.”

Dean stiffened. “What are you talking about?” He demanded in a low growl. “You don't know anything.”

They wanted to laugh at how quickly his façade fell apart at the mere mention of his torn apart family. “Oh, come on, Dean,” they teased. “You know why Dad doesn't want you to find him. After everything you've ever done for him, he still thinks you can't handle it.”

Dean tugged uselessly at his bindings. 

They clicked their tongue disapprovingly. “And your thoughts… It's just a near constant litany: Sammy Sammy Sammy Dad Sammy Sammy Mom Sammy… Your brother takes up way too much space in your head. Do you never think about anything else? _I'm_ getting a headache because of it.”

Dean smiled sharply. “Well, then, maybe, you should borrow another form, huh? Wouldn't want to get a migraine.”

The shifter chuckled. “Nah, it’s worth it. Besides…” They leaned close, gripping Dean’s short hair to force him to meet their eyes. “Sweet Sammy’s gonna be waiting for his big brother,” they whispered, feeling the tension instantly thrumming through Dean. “And I wouldn't want to disappoint him now, would I?” As they pulled away, they tugged the brass amulet off his chest. 

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” Dean snarled. “Sam’s not an idiot. He’ll know you're a fraud in a second.”

“Oh, I know,” they assured, wearing the amulet and the jacket he’d taken off Dean. “I know exactly how smart he is- it’s one of your favorite things about him. But I only need to fool him for a few seconds.”

“I swear to god, you lay a hand on him, you’re gonna regret being born,” Dean swore. 

The shifter stood in front of him. Flashes of pain burst through their mind as they did another quick search of Dean’s thoughts. “Food for thought, Dean,” they said, with a wicked smile. “When Sam finally gets fed up and wants to leave again… How far will you want to go in order to keep him with you?”

They waited a split second for hurt and fear to pass over Dean’s face, before knocking him out. 

It was time to catch Winchester Número Dos. 


	7. I'd Stay For You - Hook Man

“We could have stayed,” Dean said quietly. “I mean, we’ve been traveling non-stop for a few weeks since the airplane-demon case. You know, it might have been good for us to just take a break. You and Lori were hitting it off and I-”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, patient as always. “I already said ‘ _no_ ’. And thank you, for offering, but seriously, just… No.”

Dean kept quiet for a few moments, torn between relief that he wasn’t sure why he felt and frustration at how to help his still heartbroken brother. Because Sam _was_ heartbroken, whether he admitted it or not.

“Is it because of Jessica?” He asked finally. _Bingo_ , he thought, watching Sam inhale sharply. “I knew it. You didn’t want to stay because you don’t want to disrespect her memory, am I right? Except that you _did_ want to stay.”

Sam was shaking his head before he finished speaking. “Contrary to what you believe,” he stated, in the prissiest tone Dean had ever heard from him. “I don’t make every decision based on Jess. I do some things for myself. I do a lot of things for _you_ , despite how much of a pain in my ass you are.”

“I know that, Sam,” Dean assured, gallantly not rising to the bait. And he did know. Sam was nothing if not fiercely independent, always had been, and damn if Dean didn’t absolutely love that about him. “But this particular thing- this was about Jessica. I know I’m right, you can stop lying. And, you know, maybe I didn’t get to know her, but I sure as hell think she would have wanted you to be happy.”

For half a minute, he thought Sam might not answer. Then he said in a soft voice, “I was going to ask her to marry me.”

Dean felt his stomach drop.

“I think she would have said ‘ _yes_ '.

Sam probably couldn’t hear the way Dean’s heart was thundering in his chest. Probably.

God, how had he not been ready to hear this? He should have been. Of course, Sam had wanted to marry her. He’d been gunning for the apple-pie life, with the suburban house, the dog, the whole nine yards. Proposing would have been the next logical step to Sam.

But to Dean, it was a wake-up call, a reminder of what that shifter had told him. That Sam didn’t want this. That sooner or later, he would leave. He’d probably wait till they found Dad and he was assured that Dean wouldn’t be alone and then he’d leave again. Except, Sam didn’t realize that Dean had felt…

“I was gonna call you, apologize, ask you to be best man,” Dean heard Sam say. “Was hoping you could talk Dad into attending too, maybe.”

And just like that, his pulse calmed down, the pain in his chest easing a bit.

He sneaked a glance to his side. Sam had tilted his head back, eyes closed, lips pursed like he was trying to keep them from quivering.

With a remaining phantom ache that he wasn’t too eager to investigate, Dean slapped his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Aww, Sammy, you know I’d have loved to make an embarrassing speech about you.”

It worked. Sam laughed, even though the sound was thick with suppressed tears.

And Dean put all thoughts of Lori, Jess and marriage on the road behind them.


	8. Look At Me - Bugs

Sam was still reeling from the revelation that Dad used to check up on him at Stanford. How had he never noticed? There had been times when he’d felt eyes on him, been peripherally aware of someone watching him. But he had never spotted a tail, even out of the corner of his eye, so he’d chalked it up to paranoia. He should have known better. He’d been raised to trust his instincts, trained to live in constant vigilance. _(In his mind, Mad-Eye Moody sounded a lot like John Winchester)_. He should have realized that someone was, in fact, trailing him from afar.

Then, Dean dropped another bombshell. “If it means anything,” he mumbled, eyes firmly on the marble floor as they waited for the anthropology professor. “I was proud of you too.”

Sam didn’t even register the words for a second. “I’m sorry, what?” He exclaimed.

Dean glowered mildly. “Just sayin'… Dad wasn’t disappointed in you, he was scared but he was also proud. And so was I. Proud, I mean.”

Sam stared at him. He had a sudden urge to pinch himself, just to check he was still awake. “That’s not how I remember it,” he said faintly. “I remember you looked like you were ready to start throwing punches, when I told you guys about my plans.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, well, I didn't want you to leave,” he muttered. “We worked better together than either of us alone with Dad. Even outside of hunting, we were… We were a team, man. A unit. And then you wanted to leave… At the risk of sounding like a dramatic teenager: when you said you were going to college, it felt like you were talking about amputating one of my limbs. We’d started hunting together when you were nine years old and suddenly, I had to learn how to watch my own back.”

Sam swallowed. How was he supposed to explain that he hadn’t meant to leave their family, to leave _Dean_? All he’d wanted was to go to college.

“Me too,” he said finally. “I mean… It felt the same for me. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t miss you.”

“The professor will see you now,” the lady at the desk spoke up, startling them.

As they stood, Dean shook his head, building up his walls again. “Winchester Syndrome, dude,” he enunciated. “None of us know how to communicate.”

_That’s an understatement_ , Sam thought sourly.


	9. The Screams In My Dreams - Home

_“Mom,” Dean whispered. She was standing with her back to him. “Mom, please. It’s me. It’s Dean.”_

_She turned around slowly and Dean felt his heart stop at the blood staining her nightgown. She didn’t seem aware. Her attention was divided between Dean and the little bundle in her arms that was obviously baby Sammy._

_“You could have saved me,” she said flatly._

_Dean knew what she was talking about, knew it as surely as he knew his brother. “I… I didn’t… I…” He stammered. How could he explain? “I’m sorry,” he settled on._

_She regarded him coldly, with none of the love and affection he remembered. “I was still alive when you saw me on the ceiling,” she accused. “But you let me burn.”_

_“I'm sorry,” Dean cried. “I tried… I got scared, I…”_

_“If you couldn’t protect me,” she interrupted. “Then how are you going to protect Sammy?” As if on cue, the baby in her arms began wailing. At the same time, fire caught around them._

_“No!” Dean screamed. The fire spread, separating him from them. “No, Mom, please!”_

_Sam’s cries grew louder. Mary remained impassive. The flames licked up her body, engulfing her completely._

_“SAMMY!”_

He woke with a gasp, no fanfare. There was a warm presence beside him. It took him a second to remember that there had only been a single king bed available. Apparently, Dean had gravitated towards Sam in his sleep, curling into his side. It should have been an embarrassing moment for him, but Sam’s arm had unconsciously draped itself over Dean. It felt nice.

Dean stared at the side of Sam’s face, what little he could see of it in the dark. He knew why he’d had that dream. Their trip down memory lane a couple days ago, Mom’s sudden appearance as a restless spirit, her mysterious apology to Sam, her subsequent sacrifice.

And Dean’s own fear regarding Sam’s visions. That wasn’t normal. Most psychics inherited their powers. Where did Sam’s come from? And would it prove to be a danger?

Sam stirred in his sleep, seemingly without nightmares for once, subtly shifting closer. Dean wondered idly if Sam’s powers meant he could sense, on a subconscious level, that Dean wanted comfort- comfort that he was too proud to ask for.

_I’m gonna protect you_ , Dean thought viciously, a fierce promise against every creature out there in the dark that might try to harm them. _I’m not gonna let anything happen to you._


	10. Rock Salt Rage - Asylum

“It’s not fair, you know,” Sam stated, as he picked splinters of rock salt out of Dean’s chest. It had taken a mix of cajoling and threatening to convince Dean to lay down on the bed and let him take a look at it. Good thing he’d agreed; the wounds Sam had unwillingly inflicted were numerous and did nothing to quell his guilt. 

“What’s not fair?” Dean asked tonelessly, staring up at the ceiling. 

“That you believe all the stupid stuff I said to you _under supernatural influence_.” He made sure to emphasize the last words.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, whatever. I told you I’m not in the sharing and caring mood.”

“Look, I’m not saying I don’t get mad at you, okay?” Sam tried to explain. “Because I do. A lot. Especially, when you’re so blindly ready to jump to attention when Dad says something. And yes, I don't like you treating me like a kid. But I don’t _hate_ you.” His voice broke the tiniest bit. “I would _never_ hate you. Much less try to kill you.”

Dean didn’t reply. 

Sam sighed. He could deal with Dean’s anger, his sharp words, his devil-may-care attitude. But he couldn’t take this silence. “Its not fair of you to hold this against me.” This time, his voice wobbled and Sam hated himself for it when Dean flinched almost imperceptibly upon hearing it. 

“You pulled the trigger three times,” he finally said. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Sam tied up the bandage and looked at his brother. “It wasn't me, not really. I didn’t believe the shifter in Baltimore,” he mumbled. “When he said that you resent me for going to college. He told me that you would never let me be free, that you’d keep me tied down to this life, because you’re jealous of me for being able to leave, that you hate me for it.” He could see Dean swallow and knew that he was on the right track. “I didn’t believe him, because I knew he wasn’t really you, so it couldn’t be true.”

Dean finally met his eyes. “I didn’t resent you for going to college,” he muttered. “I just hated how easy it seemed to be for you to cut ties with us.”

“It wasn’t easy, not even a little,” Sam assured fervently. 

Dean nodded, looking away again. “I want Dad to be proud of me,” was all he said. "Why is that a bad thing?"

Sam wanted to shake his brother, try to hammer some sense into him. He wanted to scream, _You shouldn’t need him to be_ again and again until Dean got it. 

But he couldn’t say that, could he? Not when Dean was already so fragile right now. So, he stood up, patting Dean on the shoulder once, and went to his bed. As they turned out the lights, he wondered why their truce seemed momentary and hollow. 


	11. Hell's Future Plans - Scarecrow

Meg watched Sam walk away.

_He’s my family,_ he’d said. But the way he’d said it… After all, John Winchester was his father. He was family too. Sam was supposed to go to California to find him, to try and help him. Yet, he’d readily abandoned that plan in favor of helping his brother. And why? Because Dean hadn’t picked up his phone.

Meg’s orders were clear: observe and interact, but do not intervene. Manipulate, but do not coerce.

Her father wanted to understand Sam, to know what made him tick. Meg would argue about that later, but right now, as she discreetly watched the future King get into a car he’d just stolen… It occurred to her that her father had made a mistake. John wasn’t the leverage to use on Sam. Jessica had been a stronger pressure point, but still not strong enough.

No. Apparently, as stubborn and strong-willed as Sam Winchester was, there was one person whom he would turn everything upside down for. One person he trusted above all else.

His brother.


	12. Desperate For Love - Faith

“Hey, Sam?” Dean started.

Sam looked up as he sat in the car. “Yeah?”

“You called Sue-Ann ‘ _evil_ ' for what she was doing…” Dean said, recalling the conversation.

Sam grimaced. “I was talking about how she continued to use the spell to control who died and who lived. But I don’t begrudge her for wanting to save her husband. It’s like you said: she was desperate.”

“Right.” Dean nodded in agreement. “That’s what got me thinking.” He fixed his gaze firmly on the road ahead. “If you’d known what she was doing before I got healed, would you still have brought me to them?”

Sam stiffened and Dean didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or humbled at the lengths Sam was willing to go for him.

“You would have told me though, right?” Dean asked, a little apprehensive. “After I’d been healed, you would have told me the truth.”

Sam didn’t reply. “Drive faster,” he said simply. “I don’t wanna sleep in the car tonight and you should rest some more.”

Dean pushed back the sinking feeling that he would have done the same thing if their positions were reversed. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.


	13. A Little Too Familiar - Route 666

“Sam?”

Sam started, found Cassie watching him. “Uh, yeah? Sorry, I’m a little, um…” He couldn’t find a good excuse for why he hadn’t been paying attention. How long did it take Dean to get the records?

“Let me guess. Dean told you about last night and now you’re feeling awkward around your brother’s reunion hookup?” She teased in good nature.

Sam huffed out a laugh. There was a hint of hesitation in her voice, like she was looking for confirmation. “Nah, I’ve got too much experience with people he’s spent a night with,” he answered honestly. “But an ex-girlfriend, someone he had genuine feelings for? Not so much.”

“I see.” She bit her lip, cast a nervous glance around. “Has he told you? About us?”

Sam shrugged. Then nodded.

“I really am sorry, I hope you believe that,” she said softly. “You have to understand, it’s not the kind of stuff anyone would just believe.”

“No, I know,” Sam assured. “And, I mean, I wish you hadn’t dumped him like that. But I understand why you did. I…” He took a deep breath. “I wish he hadn’t told you. Or, at least, waited a while first.”

Cassie chuckled. “Well, he’s not exactly one for patience, is he?”

He laughed too. “No, he’s not.”

“If you two are ganging up to make fun of me…” Dean arrived, sat on the chair between them and dumped a large file on the desk. “Then I'm going to seriously regret letting you guys meet.”

“You should have thought of that before.” Their voices overlapped like a single person speaking. 

There was a weird pause as Dean looked between the two of them. “You,” he spoke slowly, pointing at Cassie. “Really shouldn’t get along so well with my geek brother. And you…” He turned the finger to Sam. “I’m the only you’re allowed to talk at the same time with.”

Cassie started to giggle and Sam ducked his head down to hide a smile.

Dean grumbled. “You two are way too alike for this to end well for me.”

It was a throwaway line, said in jest.

But something about the tone of it had Sam looking up sharply at him.

Dean was smiling at Cassie, as she got a hold of herself. Then, as if feeling his stare, he turned to Sam, giving him the same smile. 

It wasn’t the smile itself that nagged at Sam. It was the soft fondness; the exact same one he’d just aimed at the woman he was in love with. And it was the way it made Sam’s chest tighten, like he couldn’t breathe.

Then Dean shook his head and abruptly reminded them of the task at hand, and the moment passed.


	14. Gone For Sixty Seconds - Nightmare

“Sam?” Dean shook him, but all Sam did was curl his hand into Dean’s shirt. Their eyes met, but Sam’s were blank, unseeing. “Sam!”

No answer.

Dean tried to calm down, tried to breathe, which was suddenly really difficult. He couldn’t help Sam if he freaked out. He started a mental countdown. The grip on his shirt was too tight; he couldn’t dislodge it without possibly disturbing Sam and there was no telling what that might result in. It could make his headache even worse.

“Sammy, come on,” he muttered, cradling the back of his neck. His other hand was clenched over Sam’s fist.

Dean thought about the promise he’d made to himself after Lawrence, that he wouldn’t let Sam’s visions hurt him. But how was he supposed to fight something that was happening in Sam’s head?

“Sammy, please, man, blink or something,” Dean pleaded. So much for staying calm. “Come on, please, give me something. Anything.”

But Sam’s gaze stayed fixed on an invisible spot in the small space between them, pupils shrunk so much that his eyes were just two large pools of mesmerizing color.

Dean used to be fascinated with those eyes as a kid, would entertain baby Sam for hours for the chance to try and count the colors in them. Now, he wildly wondered if that tactic would help to manage his panic.

“Sam,” he whispered, shaking his brother’s kneeling form again. “Sammy.” He was starting to hyperventilate. “Sammy.”

Sam gasped, eyes focusing and landing on Dean. “Dean,” he gasped. “I know where we have to go next.”

Dean took his first full breath in an entire minute.


	15. Fervor - The Benders

The boys reached for each other in a way that surprised Kathleen. It was frantic and desperate on one side, an unspoken _Don’t ever disappear like that again!_ And on the other side, it was relief and gratitude, a silent _I'm so glad you’re here, I’m sorry I scared you._

But the intensity of it, the way their hands curled around the bars of the cage, their bodies curving towards each other even from opposite sides of the cage, like they would lean their foreheads against each other if they could- it reminded her too much of watching her mother greet her father every time he came home from months of service in Iraq. 

Kathleen wanted to ask, wanted confirmation. It wasn’t any of her business, but the conundrum itched at her thoughts for the next hour. Then she watched them walk away, watched the way they gravitated towards each other, walking so close their hands were brushing against each other, the way Sam tried to pat down the other’s injuries at the same time as walking. 

Yeah. No way, those two were anything but a couple. 


	16. Out Of The Woods And Into The Jungle - Shadow

“You gotta let me go,” Sam said softly.

Dean didn’t reply, choosing to stare at him instead. Sam fidgeted; Dean’s eyes gleamed green and cat-like and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dim lighting or unshed tears.

“I don’t understand _how_ you expect me to _let you go_ again,” Dean finally said.

Sam’s heart rose up to his throat. The defeat in his brother’s voice made him sound like a child on the verge of crying and Sam hated that he was the cause of it. “Dean, it’s not going to be like before,” he tried to assure. “I'm not shutting you out this time, I wouldn’t know how! I _want_ you to be a part of my life.”

“Then why do you need to leave?” Dean snapped, angry in his grief.

Sam gazed back, clueless as to how he could explain. Did he even have an explanation, something other than not fitting in? The last several months had disproved that, reminding him that even if he left hunting, hunting wouldn’t leave him. And what did he have left? Jess was gone. Dad was in the wind. Dean was all he had, he was all Dean had.

And yet…

The 18 year old boy in him refused to admit defeat, refused to accept that all his dreams of getting out were permanently shattered. He had to try, at least once more.

“Because I can’t live like this,” he said, by way of an answer.

Dean’s face shuttered close, though not before Sam caught the pure hurt flashing through. He cocked his gun. “Let’s go.”

Sam followed suit with a heavy heart.


	17. It's All Fun And Games - Hell House

Sam was doing his best not to fidget and Dean had to press his lips tightly together to keep from laughing. Ed and Harry seemed oblivious, carefully listening to the crap about .45 pistols and wrought-iron rounds. They were completely unaware of Dean’s hand at the small of Sam’s back, sneaking under the layers of his clothes.

When he hit bare skin, Sam stuttered, drawing in a sharp breath.

“So, it’s said that Mordecai still has a deathly fear of pistols,” Dean took over smoothly. Slowly, he edged his finger past the waistband of Sam’s jeans, idly wondering how far he’d be able to go. He reached the swell of his ass… And it hit him all of a sudden that _Sam was going to kill him_.

And, well, Dean enjoyed their prank wars, like a little slice of light-heartedness and fun in the midst of all the darkness and monsters. But he also had a good sense of self-preservation and he really should know better than to challenge Sam, Control Freak Extraordianre, to a game of gay chicken. 

The last time he’d done that, months before Stanford, it had ended with Sam slamming him against the alley wall outside a bar and giving him a hickey right over his jugular, all under a minute and a half, while Dean had been too shocked to fight back.

Neither of them had looked each other in the eye for a few days after that.

With how well things had been between them for a long while now, Dean was loathe to create that kind of tension over some practical jokes.

With that thought, he pulled his finger out of Sam’s jeans and instead tickled him over the skin of his waist.

Sam jerked away, slapping his hand off, just as the wannabe ghost busters ran back to their trailer. He glared and Dean just smirked at him with all the superiority of older siblings.

Yeah. Prank wars were the best.


	18. The Memory Of A Dementor's Kiss - Something Wicked

Sam woke to someone shaking him.

“Sam, Sammy, hey, wake up. Wake up, come on!” The voice was familiar, but rough with sleep and fear. 

“What, I’m awake, I’m awake! What is it?” Sam snapped.

There was a short pause, filled with harsh breathing. Sam blinked hard, trying to see, but before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, he was being tugged into a sitting position and a tight hug.

“Dean?” He asked in a cautious whisper.

“Shh,” was the answer.

Sam stayed quiet, knowing the only way for Dean’s nightmare-stricken nerves to calm down was to let him reassure himself however he needed.

Sure enough, the hug wasn’t enough. Dean’s hands moved all over Sam, one stroking up and down the line of his back, the other tangling into his hair, then down to cradle his face. Dean pulled back slightly, enough to lean his forehead against Sam's.

Sam slowly reached up to hold Dean around the waist. It was pitch-black in the room, but he could just make out the angle of Dean’s jaw. There was barely any space between them; they were breathing the same air.

“I’m okay,” Sam whispered.

Dean’s hands twitched, then abruptly released him. “Okay,” he said in a choked-off voice. He began to move off the bed to go back to his own.

Sam knew better than to allow that. Dean needed his rest, and he wasn’t going to get it all the way over there. So, he grabbed Dean’s wrist. “I can’t sleep,” he explained. “You think you could stay?”

It was a weak lie and they both knew it. “Whatever, bitch,” Dean muttered, but it lacked the necessary bluster, so Sam didn’t bother with the obligatory reply.

Instead, he scooted back to make space and Dean lay down next to him. They weren’t cuddling, per se, but Dean’s hand stayed curled over Sam’s chest.

It was a tight fit and they’d probably wake up cramped and tangled up in each other. But that was a small price to pay in exchange for a full night’s sleep.


	19. Picturing You With Somebody Else - Provenance

“So, who’s _Sammy_?” Samantha asked in a slow drawl. “Because I specifically told you not to call me that.”

The man next to her- _Dean_ \- turned to face her, long lashes blinking slowly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, as best as she could lying down, and took a long drag from her cigarette. “You said that name three minutes ago,” she reminded him. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. Even back at the bar, I thought you looked a little sad and lonely.”

Dean made a face, stole the cigarette from between her fingers. “I didn’t say that name,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t. And I wasn’t sad or lonely.”

Samantha raised an eye brow. The guy had a weird look on his face, like he didn’t quite believe himself. “Uh, yes, you did. I heard you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it was an accident. I know someone named _Sam_ , who I call _Sammy_ all the time. Slip of the tongue, that’s it.” He was still holding something back, still reluctant.

Samantha had to laugh at the denial in his tone. “Baby, your tongue was a little too busy a few minutes ago to just _slip_. You were thinking about her.” She rolled onto her side. “Come on, tell me. It might help.”

Dean sighed, blowing out the smoke from lips that were too pink and full for a guy. “Let it go, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her on top of him with one hand. Christ, the guy was crazy strong.

She narrowed her eyes at him, as he playfully blew away the strands of her hair that fell on his face. “Fine,” she grumbled. He kissed her, then, and he was ridiculously good at that, the kind of skill that came with experience.

She pressed into him, deepening the kiss, and he groaned into her mouth. She broke away, found him staring into her eyes like he was looking for something.

“What?” She asked with a frown.

“Your eye color,” he muttered, then he hissed in frustration, pulling her into another kiss. “Why can’t I stop worrying…?”

The rest of his furiously whispered question was lost in the way he waged a desperate war in her mouth. Samantha had a feeling that he wasn’t expecting an answer from her anyway.

The next morning, she woke up to the sound of low voices murmuring.

Not quite in the mood to open her eyes, she listened to Dean’s voice at her back.

“How was your night with Sarah? Bet you had fun, haven’t seen you this relaxed in a while.”

There was a silent pause. Samantha wondered if Dean was on the phone.

“Wow. Just a bitch face? I was expecting more along the lines of a sarcastic comeback. This chick is good for you.”

Then, another voice spoke up. “Dean, stop trying to learn the details of the sex I have.” It was a man’s voice, speaking in amused whispers. “I’m already packed. I’ll wait in the car for you to show your girl out. Be quick.”

“Hey, Sammy?”

_Oh_ , Samantha thought with secret delight. _This is Sammy._

“Yeah, Dean?”

Another small pause. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” The insecurity in his voice was almost tangible. “I mean, you don’t… You don't wanna ditch my ass and stay with that girl for a while longer?”

Samantha waited with bated breath for Sammy’s response.

“No. Like I said, we've got a job to do and we’re gonna do it together. And after that, I’m not gonna just up and abandon you. It’s not gonna be like before, dude, I promise.”

The words were a consolation and a promise.

Dean's relief was palpable. “Great. So, I'm stuck with you for a little while longer, huh?” But there was still a hint of wistfulness.

The other voice chuckled. “Yeah, you are. Suck it up.”


	20. Bullets For Lives - Dead Man's Blood

“Sam, go put these in the trunks,” John ordered. “We’re leaving for Salvation in twenty minutes. I just need to have a word with your brother.”

Sam cast a concerned frown at Dean. He opened his mouth to argue, but Dean beat him to it. “Yeah, I need to talk with Dad, too. Go ahead, will ya, Sammy? _Please_?” He added exasperatedly, when Sam looked even more incensed.

With a bitten-off growl of frustration at being outnumbered, Sam slipped out of the cabin.

John turned to his eldest. “Alright, boy,” he began. “What’s with the attitude? Because it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Dean snapped.

John did know, in fact. There was only one thing that would make Dean talk back to him. In his books, John had committed a crime. “Humor me,” he replied, anyway, wanting to hear it from his mouth.

Dean glared. “You said you could handle it. You said you’d take care of it yourself and you didn’t listen to Sam when he said you might need backup. And because you did mess up, Sammy nearly got killed.”

And, yep, there it was. “What do you want me to say, Dean?” John demanded hotly. “People make mistakes. I made a mistake.”

“A mistake that we could have avoided if you weren’t so intent on ignoring what we say to you,” Dean pointed out. “Sam’s right; I get that you were trying to protect us, but you can’t treat us like children. That stops now.”

“Dean, arguing with me now is one thing, but don’t you dare challenge my orders while we’re under fire,” John reminded, his voice low and dangerous. “Killing this demon is our goal here, it’s our responsibility and if you two disobey a direct order again, we might-”

“No, Dad,” Dean laughed harshly. “ _My_ responsibility is keeping Sam safe. Hell, at this point, my job is keeping you _both_ safe, making sure you don’t kill each other, or yourselves.”

John knew Dean was right. After all, he'd drilled it into Dean's head: _take care of Sammy_. And it wasn't like he didn’t realize how much he'd put on Dean's shoulders from too young an age; not just in hunting matters, but emotional ones too. Oh, John was all too aware, and not a day went by when he didn't hate himself for it. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay, you’re right, son. I’ve already admitted I made a mistake not letting you back me up. And I’m sorry I got Sam hurt, I really am.”

And he was. He’d panicked almost as much as Dean had when that vamp had had Sam by the throat; hell, he hadn’t even hesitated before using one of the Colt’s precious few bullets.

Dean seemed to read the sincerity of his apology and he relaxed. “Okay,” he said, exhaling loudly.

There was a banging on the door. “Let’s go, already,” Sam yelled from outside, sounding almost deliberately like a bratty teenager.

John looked at Dean, with the hint of a smile. “Twenty bucks says he was listening to us talk.”

Dean’s mouth twitched into a reluctant grin. “No bet, sir.”


	21. Fly, Little Bird, Be Free - Salvation

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

Dean groaned. “Didn't I just say, _no death-bed speeches_?” He asked testily.

Sam stayed quiet.

Dean sighed. “Okay, I'll bite. Sorry for what?”

“For the way I left,” Sam said. “For not being there for you.” He swallowed. “I'm sorry I couldn't be happy with what we had. And I'm-”

“If the next word out of your mouth is _sorry_ , I'm gonna gag you,” Dean threatened.

Sam didn’t laugh. “I know you don’t want to believe it, or admit it. But Mom’s death… Maybe it wasn’t my fault, but it was still connected to me. I’m the reason that demon came to our house that night and…” He shook his head, staring out the windshield. “I’m sorry for that too, even though I can’t go back and fix it. Any of it.”

Dean tossed the coffee thermos into the backseat. He gripped Sam’s collar and tugged sharply, forcing their eyes to meet. “Listen to me,” he snarled. “I’m gonna say this one more time: _stop apologizing_.”

Sam sighed, hand curling into Dean’s leg to stop himself from falling face-first into his lap. “Dean…”

“Do I wish you hadn’t gone to Stanford? Of course, I do. Do I want you stay with us after this thing is over? Obviously, but I’m not gonna stop you because I want you to be happy. I’m not that selfish. But Mom?” He shook his brother a little. “That wasn’t because of you. We don’t know why the demon was there, maybe it wanted you, maybe it chose at random, I don’t know, I don’t _care_. But you can’t take the responsibility for that, not even a little.” He shook him again, harder. “You hearing me, Sammy?”

Sam’s mouth had fallen open, eyes wide and shocked as he stared at Dean. “You’d let me go?” He asked. “You won’t hate me for it? For leaving?”

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the scorching heat of Sam’s palm on his knee. “Like you said before,” he said quietly. “I can never hate you. Wouldn’t know how.”


	22. Easy Pickings - Devil's Trap

The plan was simple, even if the execution was complicated. Get the older boy into Hell and keep him there until he broke. Turn the younger one to the dark side, give him a taste for power so he would kill Lilith when the time came and welcome the Prince into himself with open arms.

But this… This was shaping up to be a wrench in the plan. _This_ being the relationship between the two brothers. Sam and Dean Winchester. Sam and Dean. The father wasn’t an afterthought, oh no. If there was anybody who could actually kill Azazel, it was John Winchester.

But Azazel watched Sam follow Dean’s lead without question, watched him choosing to believe his brother’s instinct over his father’s orders- he realized that his daughter had been right.

Sam wouldn’t put anything above his brother. He wouldn’t even kill his mother and girlfriend's murderer as long he was inside John’s body- all because Dean was quietly begging him not to shoot.

So, Dean had to die for Sam to go dark side. But that still left John. Azazel wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to risk Sam’s morality on his rocky relationship with his father. No, John had to die too. If he died first, it would have the added advantage of strengthening Sam and Dean’s bond. The stronger their relationship, the more devastated Sam would be when his brother went to Hell.

Alright, then. Slight change of plans. Lilith was going to have to wait a bit more before the Hell’s Gate was opened and she was freed.

He abandoned the Winchesters in the little cabin. He had an accident to arrange. 


	23. Praying For Benediction - In My Time Of Dying

Dean didn’t scare easy. Or, at least even when he was scared, he never let it show on his face.

Except that one time when he was 12 and John had left him behind in a motel with Sam, with the promise of returning by midnight.

And he had. But the one skinwalker he’d been expecting turned out to be two and John knew that the only reason he’d come back alive was because one of the monsters had been old and limping.

John had stumbled into the motel room, bleeding chest and arm, and collapsed on the bed. Sammy, 8 years old and too smart to be fooled for much longer, had been asleep on the other bed.

But Dean… Dean had been frantic, tears streaming down his face and voice shaking with terror as he tried to dress his father’s wounds, all the while begging him to stay awake and go to a hospital.

John had barely been able to stay conscious, but he’d never forgotten that look on his boy’s face.

Now, as he whispered his last order to Dean, he could see that same expression: shock, horror, terror.

And even as he smiled and returned to his own ward, John resigned himself to the knowledge that Dean would never be able to carry out that last order.

But a man could hope, couldn’t he?

What kind of a father did that make him? Hoping that, if there was no other way, then one of his son’s would succeed in killing the other?

And yet…

_Forgive me, boys._

_Forgive me, Mary._

The world turned a sickly yellow as he closed his eyes.


	24. Splintering Glass - Everybody Loves A Clown

Dean didn’t come in for dinner. Sam didn't wait. He spent the entire afternoon and the evening listening to the sounds of Dean alternatively wrecking the car and fixing it. Bobby left him alone, a silent reassurance of support if needed.

Sam lay on the couch. There was silence outside and he stared up at the ceiling, anticipating when Dean would finally enter the house.

The clock ticked on and no one came in.

Finally, Sam decided enough was enough and got to his feet. He made his way to the scrapyard, fully intending to either cajole or bully _(depending on the situation)_ Dean into food and rest. But what he found instead made him stop in his tracks.

Dean had collapsed at the front of the car, leaning against the grill. Exhaustion and grief seemed to have finally caught up with him and he looked almost peaceful in his sleep, except for the dust and grime covering him.

Sam sighed. He knelt near Dean, slinging one arm across his back and another on his chest, and hoisted him to his feet.

Dean stirred. “Wh- Sammy?”

“Shh, just getting you into the car, Dean,” Sam whispered. Dean had cleaned up the interior well enough that it was habitable, if not drivable. “But you need to help a little, dude. Can’t do all the work myself.”

Dean was obviously more tired than he realised, because he didn’t fight Sam’s hold as he normally would have. He let himself be manhandled, doing the bare minimum of moving his own feet. Sam managed to situate Dean in the front seat, head pillowed under a jacket and legs folded to fit in. For a second, Sam stayed crouched at the open door, looking upside down at Dean’s face, Dean’s heartbeat slow and steady under his palm.

Then he stood, closing the driver’s seat door, and got into the back. It felt weirdly more comfortable than Bobby’s couch.


	25. Grief Ain't A Good Look On You - Bloodlust

It shouldn’t feel like this- like a wound festering somewhere in his chest.

Dad was gone, the demon was in the wind, the Colt was missing and Sam was way too perceptive.

That had to be the worst. Sam was all jokes and laughter, teasing him about the car, coming up with cases all over the country. But Dean wasn’t a fool and he could feel the lingering glances, the quick side-eye looks of concern.

It was driving him nuts. But, grudgingly, he could admit that it felt nice to have Sam’s attention focused on him so completely. Like old times. Or, well, like the times before they’d found the damn Colt and had the firm reassurance that Dad was safe and on the chase.

But Dad’s absence was like a black hole and it wasn’t just the grief, it was the _guilt_ , because Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault. Something about his own unexpected recovery didn’t sit right. And Dad dying minutes later? Coincidences didn’t really exist in their line of work.

So, yes, Dean was feeling off-kilter and killing things made it better. So did chatting with Gordon. Even if random things were triggering him.

And, wow, Sam was being super bitchy. Like, yes, sure, Dean had been in a weird headspace while decapitating that vamp, but, hey- cut him some slack! He came through later with vegetarian vamps, didn't he? And screen Gordon. Dean's judgement had never been so completely wrong before. 

“Gordon wasn’t a substitute,” he said later, as they drove past city limits.

Sam looked at him. “What?” He asked, feigning confusion.

Dean kept his eyes on the road. “He didn’t even come close.”

Sam hummed, turning away to hide the smug smile Dean knew he was sporting.

“And thanks for the, uh,” Dean sighed, clearing his throat. “The verbal smack down. I needed it.”

“And what did I get in return?” Sam lamented. “A bruised nose.”

Dean snorted, sneaking a look at Sam’s face. “Your nose is perfect. Don’t be a whiny bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean smiled too. Yeah, things really were looking up.


	26. Shatter - Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things

They checked into a motel, silent as a graveyard. Dean had barely shed any tears, building up all his walls in under a minute, but he still wasn’t looking at Sam.

His last words during his confession in the afternoon kept circling around Sam’s mind: _What can you possibly say to make this right?_

So, as they turned in for the night, Sam quietly slid in under the covers next to Dean.

“Uh, dude?” Dean’s voice was confused. “Your bed's over there.”

“Shhh.” Sam wrapped his unbroken arm around Dean’s bare waist, feeling him stiffen.

“Sam, you’re smothering me.” The words were hard, callous.

Sam buried his nose in the back of Dean’s neck, just the way he used to when he was a five year old kid who wanted to make his big brother’s nightmares go away.

“Sam, stop being so goddamn clingy.” The words came out in a low, furious growl.

But Sam could feel Dean trembling where he was trapped against his chest, so, after a second of hesitation that he might be taking it too far, he pressed a small, barely-there kiss to Dean’s freckled shoulder.

Dean shuddered. “Sam, please.” It was a weakly mumbled plea, defeated and wanting. 

“I'm sorry too,” Sam whispered.

There was a hitched breath, loud in the darkness. “For what?”

Sam exhaled, feeling Dean shiver. “I'm sorry I don't know what to say to make this right. I'm sorry I don't know how to help you. But whatever you need, whatever you _want_ , I’m here for you." He kept his voice soft and soothing, gentle. "So, please… Just let me help you, man. Please, Dean.”

Dean finally broke, body wracked with sobs as he cried, at long last, holding onto Sam’s arm with a vice grip.

Sam didn’t budge, letting Dean take whatever comfort he could give, whatever Dean would accept.

They weren’t going to talk about it tomorrow anyway. The only evidence of this that would remain would be bruises on Sam’s arm that would perfectly fit the shape of Dean’s fingers.


	27. Fall Into The Dark Side - Simon Said

“You know, I was right there when Andy did his mojo on you,” Sam stated.

Dean looked at him, waiting for him to go on, while Andy talked to the security guy.

“You think I’m right,” Sam elaborated. “You think there's a chance I'll go… Dark side.”

Dean chuckled, hoping it wasn’t obvious how nervous he felt. “Come on, man. That was the mojo, like you said.”

Sam shook his head in silent exasperation, simultaneously searching for records on the victims. “He’d asked for the truth, Dean. And the truth is exactly what you said to him.”

Dean faltered for an answer. Dad’s last words were hanging around the edges of his thoughts at all times. It didn’t exactly help his case, right now.

“I agree that the demon probably has plans for you,” Dean said carefully, choosing his words. “And Andy, and any other kids like you two. But I don't think you’re going to go dark side. Not for a second.”

Sam looked at him skeptically. “What makes you so sure?” He tested. “I mean, I’ve already killed more things in my life than Max. Andy has probably never even hurt a fly. I’m likelier to go bad than either one of them.”

Dean shook his head. “That ain’t happening,” he said firmly. “Not as long as I’m around. You’re not a murderer, Sam. Hell, just last week, you made me let that newly turned vampire go, because you believed that she could be like Lenore.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, I’m just saying…”

“No,” Dean stated. “I don’t doubt you. Not for a second.”

Sam looked like he wanted to protest. But he stopped himself and just nodded instead, lips still pursed tightly.


	28. It's A Lifestyle - No Exit

Sam woke up first. He came into the front room with a yawned call of “Dean, you up?” and Jo couldn’t look away from Dean’s sleeping form fast enough.

“Good morning,” she greeted, way too chirpy and slightly guilty thanks to the way Sam was peering at her in some amusement. “He’s asleep.”

“Morning,” he returned. “Were you, uh…?” He grinned a little. “Watching my brother sleep?”

Jo was thankful she didn’t blush easy. “In his dreams,” she retorted.

Sam shook his head in some fondness and turned to look at Dean, sleeping on the couch, twisted into a pretzel position that made Jo’s back ache in sympathy. Sam’s smile softened. “Not that I’d blame you if you were,” he muttered almost to himself.

Jo’s head whipped around to stare at him. That had sounded… Weird. Wrong. Had she misheard?

Sam seemed to realise what he'd just said at the same time as he caught her gaze. “I, I mean, uh…” He laughed, nervous and unsure, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been a little stressed lately, ever since Dad, and then, the thing with Gordon Walker and, uh, worrying about m… Stuff, all the damn time.” He sighed. “It’s nice to see him at peace. That's it.”

Jo blinked. She wanted to believe that, she really did. There was no reason for her not to. Sam’s explanation made sense and despite his fumbling word-vomit, he seemed honest.

She gave a tentative nod, prompting Sam to literally beam at her. Dear Lord, he had dimples. Really deep ones too. Now, Jo might have a small crush on Dean, but she had a feeling she’d be hard-pressed to find any person who wouldn’t get a little weak-kneed from the full force of a Sam Winchester-smile.

“I’ll go get coffee,” Sam offered. “You obviously need it and Dean doesn’t know how to function like a human without his morning fix.”

Jo waved him out. It was normal, she thought to herself, what Sam had said about watching Dean sleep. They were brothers, obviously, which might have made it a little inappropriate in normal social circles, but long-term hunting partners were always a little too close, a little too wrapped up in each other. Something about constantly putting your life and sanity in another’s hands, having them put theirs in yours- it changed a relationship like nothing else.

So, yeah, for Sam and Dean Winchester, it was normal. As normal as it got for two hunters who were also brothers.

Then Dean woke up and the first thing out of his mouth was “Where's Sam?”

Jo wondered if he knew that Sam’s first words had been for him too. 


	29. Mulder And Scully - The Usual Suspects

Diana wrote the report of the case with only half of her attention actually on it.

Her mind kept going back to the details, the ones she wasn’t including in her write-up.

With thoughts of Tony firmly in a To Think About Later box, she recalled Sam and Dean instead.

Diana had gone back and watched their taped sessions with intense focus. And it had been fascinating.

Even in separate rooms, with no chance to communicate pre-arrest, they were in perfect coordination with each other. Dean closed his eyes on one camera, lips moving as he muttered to himself. At the same time, Sam puzzled over something with a pencil and a piece of paper. They made the same “Matlock” reference to their lawyer, minutes apart from each other.

Dean waited for exactly the four minutes it would take for the lawyer to pass his note to Sam before announcing his willingness to confess.

And Sam escaped in exactly the two minutes it took for Dean to distract everyone with his wild- albeit true- story.

If she didn't know any better, she would have they were telepathically connected. 

On second thought, she didn't actually know better. For all she knew, telepathy was a real thing and the Winchesters had some sort of Vulcan mind-meld. 

Diana paused in her typing, to bury her face in her hand. She had to suppress an incredulous laugh when she thought about how those two had played the entire Baltimore Police Department with incredible ease. It was the kind of compatibility that came with years and years of working with and around each other.

Diana and Tony had been partners for six years. They hadn’t been anywhere as synchronized as the Winchesters.

She looked back at the computer screen. Her eyes caught on the word ‘ _partner_ '.

Huh. Interesting thought. Were they actually even brothers? With all the credit card scams and official impersonations they’d done over the course of their lives, it wasn’t a far stretch to think the role of siblings was also fabricated, though to what end, she couldn’t see.

Her hand hovered over the keyboard, intending to change ‘ _partner_ ' to ‘ _brother_ ’.

Then she let it go and moved on.

Whether the second was true or not, the first one definitely was. 


	30. Dealer's Choice - Crossroad Blues

“Dean,” Sam tried again, the music almost drowning his voice out. “Tell me you didn’t think about taking that deal?”

Dean kept staring out the windshield.

“DEAN!”

“What do you want me to say, Sam?!” Dean exclaimed, hitting the steering wheel. “Yes, I was tempted to take the deal. It was a good one and I seriously considered it for a moment.”

Sam couldn’t breathe. He’d known the answer to his own question as soon as he’d asked, but to hear Dean confirm it…

“It was a good one?” He repeated incredulously. “You were going to go to Hell, in ten years. How was that good? In any sense of the word?”

“Dad would be alive,” Dean answered.

“Yeah, and you think he wouldn’t have realized what you'd done?” Sam shot back. “How do you think he’d have felt then? Think about how _you’re_ feeling right now. You know, you chewed out Evan for condemning his wife to living without him, because _he_ didn’t have it in him to live without _her_. You called him selfish. Well, guess what, Dean, you taking that deal would have been the same thing. Dad gave his soul so you could live. The least you can do is make sure he didn’t do it in vain.”

Sam was breathing a little hard by the time he’d finished his rant. Dean had a slightly glazed look in his eyes. “Uh, you, uh…” He cleared his throat. “You've been lecturing me a lot lately.” It was a feeble attempt at distraction.

Sam glared. “Well, you’ve been acting like a, a… A half-cocked yahoo lately.”

Dean blinked, then gave a hesitant smile. “Will it make you feel better if I say I didn't go through with it because I knew you'd give me hell for it?”

Sam slumped, let his head fall back. “No. No, it really doesn’t. Because _you considered it_ , even if just for a second. And next time something like this comes along, I don't know that you won't go through with it.”

There was a short silence. “I'm sorry,” Dean said softly.

Sam didn’t know how to reply.


	31. Leave My Heart Behind - Croatoan

Dean pulled over at the lake, thankful that Sam didn’t protest. Instead, his little brother nimbly picked the keys from his hand and popped open the trunk, bringing out two bottles of beer. 

“Cheers to all the ways that I'm a freak,” Sam toasted, in a voice that was calm and collected, as they clinked their bottles together. 

“Your freakiness came really handy this time, dude,” Dean pointed out. “So, damn right, I'll drink to that.”

They stood in silence for some time. 

“You really weren’t going to leave,” Sam mumbled. 

Dean tensed, then relaxed. “You think I’d give up my Baby just like that? Of course I wasn’t going to leave.”

Sam turned halfway towards him. “So, you really were okay to just… Die? With me?”

Dean smiled. It was amazing, really. His whole life, he had never put anything before Sam. And now, Sam was all he had left. How did the kid not realize that without him, Dean would have crashed and burned a month ago? Sam was the only thing still keeping Dean going. It was a terrifying, but cheesy revelation. 

“Yeah, I was,” he answered simply. 

Sam ducked his head down, trying to get a glimpse of Dean’s face. Dean made it easy, turned slightly to look at him. He was closer than expected. Dean took a second to appreciate the colors in Sam’s eyes. As dissimilar as they looked, the hint of green in the ever-changing irises was the only hint to their shared blood. 

“You’re an idiot,” Sam said softly. “You should have left.” But there was a hint of a smile on his pillowed lips. “I didn’t want you to have been the one to do it.”

Dean smiled back, shrugging. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to die alone,” he said. “What kind of a brother would I be?”

“The kind that listens when their more sensible sibling tells them not to be stupid.”

“That sounds boring.”

Sam laughed and turned away, taking a couple idle steps in the other direction. But Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined the glimmer of tears, or the frustrated edge to his voice. 

“Drill that into your head, Sam,” he spoke lowly. “I'm never leaving you behind.”


	32. Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder - Hunted

“Dean.”

“What?”

Sam sighed. “Look, dude, we gotta talk about this.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, because back at the lake wasn’t enough? Dad said I might have to put a bullet in your brain- that ain’t enough?”

Sam flinched at the venom still in Dean’s tone. He’d already made up his mind about his own next step, he just didn’t want to leave Dean like this; all angry and frustrated.

“Hey, I found this on TV.” He nodded towards the small screen, patting the space next to him. “Let’s watch.”

Dean cast a grudgingly interested look at the TV. “You don’t even like Westerns.”

Sam smiled. “Well, Jackie Chan gets a pass,” he answered.

Dean settled in next to him on his bed. It was a queen, of course, so a tight fit, but Sam wasn’t about to send Dean back to his own bed. Not tonight.

So, they watched the film, shoulders brushing against each other, knees unconsciously bent in opposite directions. At some point, Dean’s hand was on Sam’s thigh, absently tapping without rhythm, speeding up or slowing down with the tempo of the film’s background score.

He fell asleep like that, head lolling onto Sam’s shoulder, hand curled over Sam’s hip. It was almost like he could sense that Sam was ready to bolt and was subconsciously trying to keep him here.

But Sam couldn’t risk that, couldn’t even think about hurting Dean, of all people.

So, he carefully slid off the bed, soothing Dean when he stirred, adjusting him comfortably on the pillows and pulling the covers over him.

He packed quickly, silently. He stopped at the door only once, looking back at his brother’s sleeping form. It took more willpower than he’d anticipated to step out of the room.


	33. Slips Like Silk Between My Fingers - Playthings

“Please,” Sam whispered, eyes wide and beseeching. “Dean, please, promise!”

Dean swallowed, nodded.

Sam’s hands framed his face, relief breaking over his face. “Thank you,” he murmured, tugging incessantly. “Thank you.”

For a wild moment, they were so close that Dean could have sworn Sam was about to kiss him and he panicked, shoving him off and back on to the bed. He watched, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly, as Sam writhed restlessly, before settling on his front.

Dean sat there, on the opposite bed, and watched Sammy sleep. When he began whimpering, thanks to whatever nightmare, Dean shifted to his bed, sitting next to his prone body. Hesitant, he gingerly placed his hand on Sam’s hair and began combing through it.

Amazingly, Sam quieted down, his breathing went back to regular. Emboldened, Dean kept on with it, threading his fingers into the silky strands, gently working through the smaller knots and brushing them off his face. The movement was hypnotic and with the feel of Sam’s feather-soft hair beneath his palm, Dean began to drift off.

He’d planned to snoop around more, maybe talk to the elderly man who’d taken their bags.

Oh well. He’d just wake up early next morning.


	34. Bonnie And Clyde 2.0 - Nightshifter

Victor read the records, the files that had been compiled from different cities, the witness statements from people from those same cities.

Two police records, from St. Louis, Minnesota and Jericho, California, agreed on their opinion of the Winchesters; dangerous, smart, ruthless. Along with the charges of grave desecration, robbery, B&E, trespassing, impersonation, they also had the blood of several civilians on their hands.

The police report from Baltimore, Maryland, however, written by a Detective Diana Ballard, was on a whole other tangent. It painted them as criminals, sure, but… Detective Ballard had an impeccable record. How was it possible that the Winchesters got the better of her and her equally credible partner? Ballard hadn’t explained that. There were holes in her official stories, holes that were small enough to be overlooked by someone who wasn’t looking for them.

It only served to emphasize that the Winchesters were no good.

But the witnesses? Rebecca and Zachary Warren, the Collins siblings from Blackwater Ridge, and a couple more, were all incredibly adamant that the brothers were actually heroes. They refused to accept a word against them.

What exactly was up with these two?

One thing all the stories had in common, though, was the unusual closeness between the two siblings. Of course, in a sense, given their childhood, it made sense and if they hadn’t been psycho criminals, Victor could have felt pity for them.

But something nagged at him. Usually, in cases with siblings that grew up too close, there was a power play going on, one sibling controlling the other, keeping them on a leash. Usually, there was a physical factor involved, whether that was sexual or violent in nature, it didn’t matter. Most of the times, the culprit was the older sibling- in this case, Dean Winchester.

But that didn’t make sense. Not when Sam Winchester seemed to have master-minded their escape from a locked bank surrounded by FBI. Not when the interrogation tapes from Baltimore showed the younger man making a fool of his lawyer and the cops with a milder version of Dean’s wicked grin.

Not when all the accounts spoke of how both boys ran to each other willingly, charged into danger headfirst to save each other.

Nothing about these boys was typical and that, more than anything, worried Victor. It was the unique ones that were hard to predict. You could never tell where their limits were.

And two people who had nothing to lose except each other? There was rarely anything more dangerous.


	35. Keep The Faith - Houses Of The Holy

“Dean!”

“Let it go, Sam.”

“No, damn it!” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, harshly tugging him back into the room. “Why are you so upset about this? Why does it bother you so much that I pray?”

“Sam…” Dean hissed in frustration, hitting the wall in his annoyance. “It just does. “

“Why?”

“Because it’ll get you killed!” He yelled. The words were accompanied by a hard shove, but Sam had planted his feet in anticipation and he watched Dean’s face contort with irritation when it barely budged him.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, softly, confused.

Dean clicked his tongue, impatient. But there was a hint of a plea in his eyes as he looked up at him. “Because that kind of faith, that kind of _trust_ , the _blind_ and _baseless_ belief that someone out there is watching over you- it makes you soft. It makes you lower your guard. It makes you want to see the good in everything and everyone and in the end, with the lives we lead, that’ll get you killed. I mean, I told you, Mom believed and she got killed anyway. And _you_ ,” he accused, pointing at Sam in a jabbing way. “Are already full of that. When did you start to pray, huh? After Jess? After Dad?”

“Jess,” Sam replied numbly.

Dean nodded sharply. “Even before that, you tried to think the best of everyone. You wanted to, uh, to _reason_ with monsters even before we found about creatures like Lenore. You wanted to give everyone a chance and that’s great and all, Sammy, I wish I had that kind of belief, but guess what? That naivety of yours is at least half the reason why Dad and I used to worry about you all the time! Heck, you almost got kidnapped by your kindergarten teacher, because she used to treat you like her favorite in class. And now you wanna believe in a higher good? Why? Why isn’t it enough to have faith in yourself? And in _us_?”

Sam was stunned; it wasn’t like Dean to rant like that. “Dean, breathe, dude,” he soothed, reaching out hesitantly to place his hands on Dean’s shoulders.

Dean, thankfully, didn’t shove him away this time. Instead, he forcefully relaxed himself and Sam could feel the tension leaking out of him.

“I get it,” he promised softly. “I understand why you’re worrying. But I’m not gonna stop praying.”

Dean looked ready to get riled up again.

“Because,” Sam continued, not giving him a chance. “One of us has to. One of us needs to keep the faith, because otherwise, Dean…” He shook his head, with a humorless smile. “Otherwise we’ll drown.”

Dean sighed, closed his eyes, nodded.

“But whether I pray or not, whether I believe in a higher power or not…” He waited for Dean to look him in the eye. “I’ll always believe in us more.”


	36. Breathless - Born Under A Bad Sign

Sam returned from the store with a smile.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What's got you so happy?”

Sam shrugged. “Do I need a reason to be?”

Dean raised the other eyebrow. “Uh, you’ve been off for weeks now, since the Henriksen thing with the shifters.”

Sam paused, eyes going hazy as he tilted his head to the side. “Yeah,” he mumbled, smile sliding away. “Yeah, I guess. Just thought, I should… Try not to be such a downer.”

He sounded really dejected and it occurred to Dean that just a day ago, he’d scolded Sam for being so mopey and miserable. “Okay, well, I appreciate the effort, dude.” He nodded, clapping him on the thigh. “Keep smiling. Maybe you’ll even get laid.”

Sam smirked this time and there was something different about it, something… Unfamiliar. 

“Aww, Dean, is that your way of telling me that I have a nice smile?”

Dean jerked his hand away like he’d been burnt. “ _What_?! No. _No_ , uh, I mean, uh, I’m just saying… I mean, I’m not exactly blind, and…” His words trailed off as Sam suddenly leaned into his space.

“What, Dean?” He murmured, tilting his head to the side. He was still smirking and it was _seductive as hell_. “You’re not blind? So, you’re acknowledging that you think I’m… Attractive?”

His tongue flicked over his lip at the end of the sentence and Dean’s eyes zeroed in on it. It was getting hard to breathe in the car, with Sam this close and his literally sparkling eyes and… What the hell has gotten into his brother?

That thought, that word- _brother-_ brought Dean back to his senses. Before he could do anything, though, something like realization and confusion flashed over Sam’s face and he drew away. “Relax, man, I’m just kidding,” he said flippantly. “Hey, you mind dropping me off at the library before heading to the bar?” 

At the bar, Dean tried to chat up the bartender. He couldn’t get his mind off what had happened in the car, though. What exactly had Sam been doing? What had he hoped to gain?

He returned to the motel room, hoping to drill some sort of explanation out of his crazy little brother. Except Sam still wasn’t there. And his mobile, when Dean called it, was out of service. And he wasn’t there at the library when Dean drove over to check there. The lady at the desk said no one of his description had checked in. And Ellen hadn’t heard from him, when he called her.

Sam was missing. And if Sam’s bags hadn’t all been still in their room, Dean would have wondered if he’d done something wrong to drive him away.


	37. Missing A Home Where I Never Belonged - Tall Tales

Oh Father, damn it. Crap.

It’s them. The Vessels.

Is it time? Almost? No. No, I would have heard the whispers.

But.. Oh. Oh, right, I did hear whispers. Michael’s Vessel is expected in Hell soon.

And Lucifer’s… He will be put to the test too, soon.

I wish I could doubt their ability to survive their coming trials. But I can’t, because I know they can. Father made them that way- to be strong, strong enough to host Heaven’s Commander and the Morningstar.

It’s surprisingly painful, watching them together. They're moving with easy companionship, with casual words and teasing to cover up how much they care for each other. Not they manage it very well- all that fondness, all that Love… It can’t be hidden.

It's reminding me of too much of my brothers, the eldest and the youngest.

If two Archangels couldn’t disguise the depths of their relationship, then how can these two humans? 

More painful when I know that soon, one will kill the other. Even if they will be possessed at the time, they’ll still be aware of everything their bodies are being forced to do. They’ll feel the pain. And they’ll feel the grief. Will Michael or Lucifer feel it too? Whoever wins or loses, will the surviving brother mourn the other as much as their respective Vessel will?

It’s almost easier to watch them fight, watch them argue and yell and threaten drastic measures. But no… Even that sight reeks of nostalgia.

I hate it. I hate it as much as I love it.

And doesn’t that just sum up family?


	38. Eyes Can't Hide The Truth - Roadkill

“So, how long have you guys been doing this?” Molly asked, as they searched the cabin.

Sam looked at the ghost. “Uh, our whole lives pretty much. I started when I was 9. Dean when he was 8, I think.”

She hummed, obviously distracting herself with small talk. “So you guys have always been together, huh?”

“Yeah.” Sam paused, thought about those four years that they’d spent apart, too angry at each other to reach out first. “Almost. We separated for a while, but, something came up, he came to me. And we’ve been together since then.”

Molly nodded with a smile. “That's sweet. Are you guys already married or…?”

He almost choked on his spit. “Wait, _what_?! No, _no_. He’s not… We’re just…”

“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure. “I mean, my cousin was gay and I know how difficult it was for him, since people aren't really accepting of it. But I’m cool with it.”

Sam was shaking his head frantically. “No, Molly, we’re _brothers_ ,” he emphasized.

She stilled, stared. “Oh,” she said, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just…” She shrugged. “Never mind.”

Sam relaxed. “It’s okay. I'm kind of used to it actually. People are always assuming we’re together. Dean hates it, even if he plays it up sometimes.”

“Why does he hate it?”

Sam laughed. “Well, I’d say because it hurts his ego. But if you ask him, he’ll tell you that he has better taste and so, _if_ he were gay and _not_ my brother, he wouldn’t look at me twice.”

Molly gave a nervous chuckle. “Right…” She murmured. She sounded a bit skeptic.

Sam frowned. “Hey, can I ask you something, though? Why do people keep thinking that? Why did you?”

Molly took a slow breath. Her eyes flicked to the door through which Dean was searching the next room. “Just… The way he looks at you, I guess. The way you look at him.”

She didn’t believe that they were brothers, Sam realized. She thought he was lying. “Oh, okay,” he said amicably.

He didn’t bother pondering what she meant by her words. He and Dean didn’t look at each other in any way than normal.


	39. The Sound Of Shattering Fantasies - Heart

The gunshot rang through the apartment and Dean flinched. He wiped away his tear quickly.

When Sam didn’t come back out, Dean inched towards the dining room where they’d been, a little afraid of what he would see.

He found Sam swaying on the spot slightly, gun held loosely in his hand. He was staring at Madison’s corpse, a bullet hole in her forehead and tears staining her cheeks.

“Sammy?” He called. He came up behind him, slipped the Taurus out of his hand. “Sammy.”

His body shuddered, a sob breaking through, and he turned on the spot, slamming into Dean with force, burying his face in his shoulder.

Dean froze for a moment. It has been a long time since he’d had to comfort Sam like this. Even after Jessica, Sam had shut him out, refusing to deal with the grief and focusing on the rage instead.

But now…

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around him, trying to hold him together. “It’s okay,” he whispered, feeling helpless as Sam’s tears soaked his jacket. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said, voice breaking. “I'm sorry I asked you to kill me.” A new set of sobs wracked his body.

Dean pulled him closer, pressing them together as much as he could, like if he held Sam tight enough, all this pain would be squeezed out of him.

Who knew? Maybe it would work.


	40. Ignorance Is A Bliss - Hollywood Babylon

“Hey. Taquito?”

Sam started, found the sound tech guy smiling up at him with a plate of snacks in his hand, the same thing Dean had offered him earlier. “Uh…”

His hesitation was apparently obvious, because the guy said, “It’s veg, if that helps.”

He relaxed. It wasn’t that he didn’t eat meat, but on a case, he preferred to stick to healthier and lighter stuff. “Yeah, thanks.” He accepted one. As he realized that it was, in fact, really good, he looked around for Dean. He found him standing next to Tara Bletchley, awkward in a way he never was. It was kind of adorable, watching Dean trip over himself around a chick.

“I’m Justin.”

Sam turned back to the man. “Hey. I’m Sam.”

“So, Sam,” the guy said, drawing his name out. “You’re obviously new here. How long do you plan on staying?”

“Uh, well, my brother is working as a PA here for some time,” Sam explained. “So, I guess, we’ll stay as long as this movie is being shot.” _Hopefully not that long_ , he added internally.

“I see.” Justin nodded. “You guys looking for a permanent job or…?”

He was nosy, Sam noted with amusement. “Nah, we’re just taking an extended road trip. Usually, we get some day jobs if we stay in a place for a little longer.” It was technically the truth. “What about you, how long you been doing this job?”

“Oh, I’ve only done a couple films,” he said with a shrug. “But I’ve got some theatre cred, so that helps.”

“Yeah?” Sam grinned. “I did some theatre in school, too. Nothing major, just small musicals.”

Justin’s smile widened. “I used to love musicals!” He laughed. “Hey, what are you doing for lunch? We could get a bite, talk a little. I could show you around too, if you want.”

Sam took a second to think about it. He and Dean had planned to look through the dailies today, but Dean could do that himself. Sam could probably weasel some more gossip and information out of this guy. And anyway, Dean wasn’t the only one allowed to make friends.

“That’d be great,” he agreed with an eager smile.

Justin paused, eyes wide to emphasize long lashes, mouth agape, for a second. Then, he cleared his throat. “Great.” He sounded breathless. “Uh, after pack-up, then?”

Sam opened his mouth to agree. Before he could, there was an arm slung around his shoulder and a loud, “We got places to be, Sammy, come on now.”

He was tugged away before he could protest.

“What is it?” He whisper-hissed. “Did you find out something?”

Dean snorted, continued to pull him along. “No, doofus. I was saving your ass.”

Sam frowned. “From what?” He looked back, craned his head to try and get a glimpse of Justin. “You think Justin has something to do with this case?”

Dean ground to a halt. He stared up at Sam. “Dude, please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Uh…”

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sam, he was flirting with you.”

It was Sam’s turn to scoff. “Oh, come on.”

Dean threw his hands up. “He was all but begging you to agree to a date.”

“He asked me to lunch just to talk, Dean, and to show me around, that’s not…” Sam trailed off. A meal and a private tour? That actually did sound like a date.

Dean shook his head. “Only you, Sammy,” he muttered.

Sam blushed. “Shut up,” he grumbled. “I already agreed to lunch anyway.”

“So? Don’t go.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, tilting his head to the side. “You can hang out with Tara all the freaking time, but I can’t have lunch with a nice guy?”

Dean actually gaped at him. “I… Since when… You never told me you were into guys?”

Sam involuntarily thought about Brady. Then he recalled Justin, with his crinkly-eyed smile and bright demeanor. “It never came up,” he replied. “And I don’t act on it all that often. Almost never, actually.”

Dean blinked slowly, like he was trying to process it. His eyes went blank for a few seconds and then widened. He cleared his throat, his face and neck going a delicate shade of pink. “Okay, well, I guess, I’ll see you in the evening, then?”

Sam nodded, trying to figure out what had just gone through Dean’s head. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I should go, they'll be packing up soon and he’ll probably be waiting for me.”

“Right,’ Dean agreed quick. “Uh, bye, then.”

He disappeared around the corner of the building. Sam stood there for a moment, confused, then headed back to his lunch date.


	41. Do Not Touch - Folsom Prison Blues

“Hey, Sammy, you listening?” Dean snapped his fingers in front of his nose.

Sam didn't look at him as he nodded. His eyes kept roving over the yard from where they sat on the bench side-by-side.

Dean sighed. “What's wrong with you? What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. Keep talking.”

“No, seriously, you’re…” He searched for a word. “You're _glowering_.”

And he _was_. Sam was sitting stiffly, jaw clenched as he surveyed every inmate in silence. Dean took a second to observe the veins popping out on his forearms, from how tense he was.

“Sam, come on, dude, you’re making people stare at us.”

Now, Sam did turn to him. “No, Dean, _you’re_ making people stare. They’re looking at _you_.”

“Well, that's because I'm a charming personality,” he quipped.

If anything, Sam’s scowl deepened. But it was less angry now and more exasperated.

Before Dean could ask again, the bell rang. It was time to go back into their cells. They stood, joining the spread-out crowd as they walked towards the building. Sam walked a step behind him, though, like he was using Dean for protection.

“Don't worry, okay?” Dean whispered, knowing how uncomfortable his little brother felt among all these cons. “Two more days and we’re out of here.”

“Will you stop strutting?” Sam hissed in his ear, as if he hadn’t even heard what Dean had said.

“I’m not… Oh, screw it.” Grumbling, Dean sped up slightly, expecting Sam to follow at the same pace.

Instead, when he’d taken about seven steps forward, there was the sound of a scuffle and the murmur of the crowd died down.

Dean turned and his heart leapt to his throat.

Sam had his hand clamped around a guy’s wrist, a guy who was at least _three_ inches taller. His lips were set in a snarl and there was fire in his eyes as he stared his opponent down.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean demanded in a low, panicked voice. Crap, he was _so_ not in the mood to get beat up again. And that’s exactly what would happen if Sam didn’t listen to him. “Sammy, hey, come on.” He stepped forward, intending to pull Sam away. 

Instead, Sam’s other hand shot out to hold him back, palm splaying across Dean’s chest. 

Dean, surprised into stillness, snuck a look at the other inmate. He was built like a linebacker, with a shock of thick black hair done in uneven spikes. And he was looking at Dean.

Dean shifted in place, something in him unsettled by the way the guy’s gaze turned heated.

Sam noticed too and his grip tightened visibly. “Back. Off,” he spoke through grit teeth.

The guy seemed to be sizing them up, gauging whether it was worth it or not. Whether _Dean_ was worth it or not, he realized.

Then he did exactly as Sam commanded- he backed off.

Sam let him go. He stood in place for a second, glaring at everyone. Once he was sure they were all watching him, he pulled Dean close, deliberately wounding an arm around his waist and tugging him along.

Dean was too shocked to fight the hold, but there was no way to miss the possessiveness of it, the way it screamed out a simple message: _**MINE**_.

“Aww, Sammy,” he finally murmured, as they were marched towards their cells. “You didn’t have to go all caveman on me.”

He was pretty sure his voice didn’t shake, but Sam gave him a small, comforting smile anyway, before they were locked away separately.

Dean’s cellmate ceded him the top bunk.


	42. Resisting Change - What Is And What Should Never Be

Dean’s hand lingered on him when they hugged. Sam didn’t know what to make of it. Hell, the fact that they were hugging was actually an oddity in itself. All he’d done was remind Dean of his LSAT score that had gotten him into law school. For some reason, that had prompted Dean to give him a hug and whisper, “I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

That was the other thing: _Sammy_.

Dean hadn’t called him that since… _Wow_. Since he was sixteen and heartbroken because his big brother had slept with his prom date. Almost seven years.

And then at the restaurant, he’d said, “I'm happy for you.”

Sam had wanted to scream: _Since when?_

What infuriated him the most was that, as weirded out as he felt, Sam found himself reluctantly enjoying the attention.

There has been a time when Dean had been his whole world, his sunshine-bright, larger-than-life big brother, the best in the world. And Dean had doted on him, loved him like there was nothing more he wanted than to make Sam smile.

Sam still didn't know when that had changed, or why. He knew siblings grew apart as they aged and matured, but they weren’t supposed to hate each other the way Sam did. Or well, the way Sam wanted to.

So, here was Dean, breaking into Mom’s china and making BS excuses and Sam didn’t know whether he wished for them to be true or not.

Whether he wanted Dean’s changed behavior to truly mean something, or for it all to be a random fluke so they would both go back to normal the next day.

Then Dean apologized. “I wish I could stay to make it right.”

And Sam couldn’t stop himself from hoping. 

“You’re still my brother.”

It was the truest and most genuine thing Sam had said to his brother in a long time.


	43. Drifting Off - All Hell Breaks Loose Part One

It’s surprisingly hard to focus when you’ve just been stabbed.

One moment, Sam was calling Dean’s name, relief light and airy in his chest at the sight of his brother. The next moment, Dean was yelling a warning and fire-hot pain shot through Sam’s back.

He fell to his knees and there were arms around him, patting at his wound- _ow, that stings_ \- and then there were hands on his cheeks, in his hair- _oh, that feels nice_ \- and there was a voice, urgent and scared.

“It’s not even that bad, you know, it’s not even that bad, you hear me, we’re gonna patch you up, okay?”

_Dean_. Sam tried to concentrate, tried to nod, to reply in some way. All he could see was bright green.

“I'll take care you, I'm gonna take care of you, alright?”

_I'm okay, Dean. Don’t be scared. I’m okay._

“That's my job, right? That's my job, look after my… My pain-in-the-ass little brother?”

Dean couldn’t hear him. Or maybe Sam couldn’t talk. He needed to tell Dean to not be worried. But everything was getting hazy.

“Sammy? Sam? Oh, oh, god, Sam… Sammy…”

He couldn’t see anymore. Had the hands left his face? He couldn’t feel them.

“SAM!”

Someone was calling him, someone who wanted him to reply, someone who seemed to lov-


	44. Countdown - All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, while Sam kneeled between his legs, cleaning the nasty gash above his eye from getting smashed into a gravestone.

Sam was quiet, still. He’d tried to be lighthearted _(“Guess I get to save your ass for a change,”)_ but now that they were shacked up in a motel, he was grim-faced, silent as stone as he worked.

It bothered Dean to no end. “Sam?”

No answer, just another swipe of the wet cloth.

“Sammy.”

The cloth was cool on his face.

“Sammy, please.”

Sam moved the cloth away, started in with the sanitized cotton. “Don’t. Just shut up.”

Dean shuddered, the disinfectant stinging.

Sam stopped immediately. “Okay?”

“Hurts.” The admission cost nothing that Dean wasn’t willing to give to Sam right this moment.

“Sorry.” It was short, but sincere. Sam’s fingers were gentle as he smoothed a band aid over it. “Don’t remove that. Shouldn’t scar.”

He didn’t make to get up, his hands landing on Dean’s knees. Dean covered them with his own hands, felt them twitch.

“Please, don't be mad at me.” He wasn’t above begging, not now.

He wasn’t ready for Sam to surge up, wrap him into a hug so tight that Dean fell back on the mattress. Sam fell with him, lying on top of him, completely wrapped around him. Dean returned it, clinging to Sam’s waist, one palm flat over the small of his back, where he knew the mark from Jake’s knife was.

The last time they'd been this close, Sam had just killed Madison and Dean had been trying to make his little brother’s hurt go away.

Right now, though, Dean felt like _Sam_ was surrounding _him_ , fortifying him within his own body. And it worked, kind of.

“You can’t die,” Sam growled. “I'm gonna save you. I’m gonna save you and you had better not try to stop me or give me any crap about how you’re better off dead. Because I swear to God, Dean, if you die…” Sam’s breath hitched. “If you die, I will march into hell and drag your soul back and then kill you again myself for leaving me.”

Dean refused to acknowledge his tears or the tremors running through Sam’s long body. He felt safe right now, safe and happy and content. “Okay, Sammy.”

He didn’t want to think about how he only had a year left of this. Of _Sam_.


	45. Myriad - The Magnificent Seven

Pride held him down, while the female demon stalked forward to stroke his face.

Her touch felt like fire.

“Feel that, Sam?” She whispered.

Sam roared, feeling the urge to carve her eyes out.

“That’s rage, Sam,” Wrath went on. “And you have it by the bucket loads. What are you angry at?" She asked in a hiss. “That your brother made that stupid deal?”

Her words were making Sam see red, but with his neck being crushed, he couldn’t quite reply. All he knew was that he wanted to kill every single one of these bastards and them go beat up Dean to within an inch of his life. Except those weren't his emotions, not entirely. 

“But why?” Pride questioned, yanking head back by the hair. “You don’t need Dean. You’re strong enough on your own. I mean, you were meant to rule.”

Sam struggled, futilely.

The third demon stepped forward. “But _need_ isn’t the same as _want_ , is it?” He asked, voice high and nasally. “You _want_ Dean. You’re greedy for it, for his time, his presence, his love. You know you already own his heart- it’s obvious with that deal he made for your life. But that’s just not enough, is it? You want to lay a claim to his life as well. You want to challenge Hell’s claim on his soul.” He leaned closer, almost conspiratorial. “It’s only a matter of time before you claim his body too.”

Sam’s head swam with the lack of oxygen. The words were making sense and yet not. Amd he couldn't tune them out, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Well, why shouldn’t you?” Pride laughed. “Dean should be grateful that you’re even still with him. You could have had him as completely yours a long time ago.”

“What was Dean thinking?” Wrath murmured. “He had no right to sell his soul. Not without asking if you have any further use for it. How dare he just assume like that?"

Anger, hurt, desperation, desire- it all flashed through Sam’s mind and he choked on it.

Then a petite blonde barged in, knife swinging, and saved his life.


	46. Somebody Loves You - The Kids Are Alright

Lisa kissed him on impulse.

“I’d be proud to be his Dad,” he’d said and she hadn’t been able to help it.

She wasn't lying when she said she had a type and dangerous guys with a soft streak were her weakness. Dean Winchester fit the bill to a T.

Except he didn’t kiss her back and there was something like guilt in his eyes when she pulled away. Lisa wondered if it was because he’d already found someone else. But then, he’d turned up at her door with a proposition not two days ago.

She asked him to stay and she wasn’t surprised when he refused, sweet and sad, but not really sorry. Like there was something else that needed to be done, something else that needed his time. Something that was more important. 

He said it was his job.

Lis didn’t follow him out the door, but she watched him from the window.

Dean walked over to his partner, who had his hands folded on top of the car, head bowed like he was praying. He looked up when Dean approached and Lisa noted with disbelief that he was even taller than Dean’s impressive 6’1”. There was some small talk; the taller man was asking something, his expression sad. Dean seemed to console him, a hand on his shoulder, standing close enough that he had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye.

It looked intimate, vulnerable. And Lisa didn’t want to look away.

As they pulled away from each other, Lisa took a deep breath and changed her conclusion: whether the job needed Dean or not, his long-haired partner definitely did.


	47. Suburban Beauty - Bad Day At Black Rock

“So, what can I get you, sir?”

Dean glanced up, trademark smirk already in place, oozing with instinctive charm.

Except the pretty red head bartender wasn’t even looking at him. She was smiling at Sam, who looked just as surprised as Dean felt.

“Uh.” He glanced at Dean, unsure, then looked back at her with a timid smile. “Just two beers, please.” He discreetly moved away the book about cursed objects he’d been looking through, trying to find out more about the rabbit foot. If they didn’t find anything, they’d have to call up Bobby.

“No problem.” She passed two bottles to them, with a cursory once-over in Dean’s direction. “I’m Eliza, by the way.”

Sam tipped his head politely. “I’m Sam.”

“Passing through town? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Sam shrugged. Dean watched with amusement as he tried to stay aloof and short without being rude.

“Just taking a break from college for a road trip with my brother.” It was a clear attempt at shifting her attention to Dean.

Not that it worked. “Cool, cool. Let me guess: medical?”

Sam shook his head. “Law.”

Eliza lit up almost visibly, her green eyes widening in delight. “Me too!” She exclaimed. “I’m actually on break from Harvard.”

“Yeah?” And just like that, Sam’s smile turned from obliging to interested. “I was… I’m at Stanford.”

Dean snorted quietly into his beer. Looked like Sammy had found a chick as nerdy as him. Any minute now, they were going to excuse themselves from his company and head over to… Her place? Or would Sam take her to the car?

Of course, drinks and a hook up weren’t exactly Sam’s style. But Dean knew bartenders and waitresses and frisky librarians and Eliza here was looking at Sam like he’d hung the moon. He might as well go hustle a while, leave Sam to get jumped by Miss Harvard Law.

Except that didn’t happen.

Dean was playing against a couple locals. A few games later, when he looked around, he realized that both Sam and Eliza were exactly where he’d left them, the latter carrying on with her job as she chatted.

And Sam… Sam was laughing. Dimples showing, eyes sparkling, full-blown laughter.

He had barely smiled properly since he'd found about Dean’s deal.

Dean watched, an ache in his chest, as he realized that this girl was more Sam’s type than he’d previously thought. She wasn’t just a nerd- she was genuinely clever, she could make Sam laugh, she clearly loved life and enjoyed the hell out of it.

For a second, Dean closed his eyes, tried to picture Sam living a normal life, with a wife and kids and a dog. The face of the girl changed often, from Jessica to Sarah, to Ava, to Madison, to Eliza now. It was ridiculous- Sam had only known Madison and Sarah for a weekend each, Ava had been engaged _(before she turned psycho, but Sam didn’t like talking about that)_ , and he hadn’t even spent a whole day with Eliza yet.

But the identity of the imaginary wife wasn’t the problem. The problem was that no matter who she was, Sam’s normal life would never have room for Dean.


	48. Tunnel Vision - Sin City

There he was: Sam Winchester, Azazel's Boy King.

They hadn’t been expecting hunters, much less three, and now the Winchesters were standing in front of her, ordering drinks while the older one flirted shamelessly with her.

Her companion, hosted inside the priest, made small talk, with them and with her, before leaving.

She played the game, batted her eyelashes at Dean and curled sinful red lips into a smile that was reeling him in by the second.

She was trying to ignore Sam, though. She was a demon- she could feel the dark power in his veins, rushing and churning, ready to burst out and create havoc at the merest whisper of his thoughts.

She could feel the potential of him using that power on her, bending her to his will. She was scared.

So, she focused on Dean. If things went right, she could probably kill him at least. All he had to do was agree to leave with her.

She thought she had him, almost, his eyes flickering down to her chest every few seconds, teeth digging into his plump lips, all lustful energy and promise- hmm, maybe she could have some fun with him before snapping his neck.

She was about to suggest leaving, when the other intruded, sliding into the conversation smoothly.

“Hey, Casey,” Sam greeted her congenially. Then he turned to his brother, silent but communicating with just his eyes and a subtle tilt of the head.

Dean replied, with raised eyebrows and no words.

Sam nodded.

Dean turned back to her. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “Duty calls.”

She watched them leave. Dean looked up at Sam, leaning in to whisper something.

It was just as close as he had been to her mere moments ago. Maybe closer.


	49. Don't Pay For My Sins - Bedtime Stories

The door opened to reveal Dean on the bed, still asleep. Sam stepped in slowly, placing the Colt on the table, his bag in a chair, and went to stand beside Dean’s bed. He dropped to his knees.

Dean was on his side facing him. His brow was smooth, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling in an even and unhurried way, as if Sam wasn’t already counting each and every one of Dean’s breaths.

Without shame, Sam lowered his head to rest on the mattress, near Dean’s limp hand. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He realized belatedly that he was crying, his tears dripping on to the bedcovers. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know what he was apologizing for- not killing Jake when he’d first had the chance, letting his guard down and getting stabbed fatally, not being able to find a way to save Dean, not being strong enough to keep a brave face like Dean clearly needed him too. He was apologizing for all of it. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he cried, trying to stifle his sobs. 

Dean stirred. “Sammy?” He called, eyes closed, still dreaming.

Sam couldn’t reply, just gave a small, broken hum in answer.

Even asleep, Dean heard it. He settled back down, snuggling into the blankets.

Sam got to his feet, shaky, swallowed through the lump in his throat. _I’m going to save you._

Screw the crossroads demon; she didn’t know what she was talking about. Sam didn’t want to learn what it felt like to live without his brother.


	50. Lipstick Stains - Red Sky At Morning

Dean snickered to himself as Sam cringed at the memory of Gertrude.

“Well, who knew you had it in you?” He teased. “Snagging a cougar? Didn’t see that coming.”

“Bite me,” Sam snapped.

“I think dear old Gert beat me to it.” Dean grinned.

Sam groaned. “Please, stop,” he said, exasperated. “It was the most embarrassing experience of my life and I never want to remember this night.”

“Most embarrassing?” Dean pretended to think, as he snagged two glasses of champagne. “I don’t know, I seem to remember a time your hair was so long that one of your classmate's little sister begged to braid and put some makeup on you.”

Sam turned to glare. “Are we just going to pretend Betty Jones didn’t happen? You know, the time you asked her if you could try her lipstick and Dad and I came home at exactly the right time to catch you?”

Dean faltered, firmly looking away when Sam smirked in victory. “Screw you,” he grumbled. “I make lipstick look good, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, well…”

Dean turned to demand he finish the sentence. Instead he found Sam staring at his… His mouth. He looked almost curious. Inquisitive.

“I actually think I agree with you.”

Dean blinked, replayed the statement. “Sorry, what?”

Sam grinned.

Dean peered at him. “How much champagne have you had?”

Sam waved a hand around. “A few. Maybe half a dozen. You try dancing with Gertrude for an hour.”

Dean laughed, feeling strangely lighter when Sam looked away from his lips. “Okay, smart guy. Let’s get some water in you before we meet Bela at the cemetery.”


	51. Honey Trap - Fresh Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, I completely forgot to post this chapter and posted the coda for the Christmas Episode instead!!! Sorry!!!

Sam lined up his shot, took it, missed. “Damn it,” he groaned. “Let’s go again.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Dude, we need to go home now! Come on, already!”

“Oh let him play,” the douchebag opponent said with a laugh. “You can stand to wait some time before getting laid.”

Sam sneaked a glance at Dean. A smile spread on his face, too sharp to be friendly. “Well, I’m tired and I just can’t go to sleep without my baby all snuggled up with me.”

Sam nearly choked on his beer. Well, two could play at that game. “Oh, Deanie,” he simpered, the alcohol making him less inhibited. “That’s so sweet. But I’ll just be one more game, okay honey?”

Dean’s glare was worth it.

Mr Douche gathered up the balls, arranging them. “I’ll break?”

Sam nodded, caught Dean’s eye.

He shook his head subtly: _This one will break your neck. It’s not going to work._

Sam considered it, smirked: _Give me a minute._

He bent carefully, taking aim. He wasn’t vain, but he knew what he looked like; back curved slightly, hair falling into his eyes, long legs and arms stretched out. _(There had been a time when Sam had always felt inferior, overlooked. Jessica had taken it upon herself to correct him.)_ He missed the shot.

He sighed, swaying lightly as he straightened. Both Mr Douche and Dean were gaping at him- one with heated interest, the other with morbid fascination.

Sam smiled sweetly. “Dean, could you get me a drink, please?”

Dean blinked, shook himself. “Uh, sure, Sammy. Don’t keel over while I’m gone.”

“You sure you should have another drink?” Mr Douche asked when Dean was out of earshot. “You’re already having trouble playing.” There was a nasally tone of flirtation in his words that would have bothered Dean to no end if he’d been present to hear it.

Sam grinned, slow and sweet. “Well, I’m not that great a player anyway,” he said, borrowing a slow Texan drawl. “Why don’t you help me out?”

Mr Douche made a show of looking over his shoulder to where Dean was talking to the bartender. “Alright then,” he murmured. He took his shot, missed the next one. Then he came to stand beside Sam. “Let’s see if we can’t help you with your stance.”

His breath was hot on Sam’s neck and even as it made him want to cringe, he had to stifle a smile. Dean was the homme fatal, the honey trap. That didn’t mean Sam didn’t know how to do it too.

He pocketed every ball left within the minute and Dean returned just in time to watch him sink the 8 ball.

Mr Douche laughed disbelievingly. “Looks like I’m a good teacher,” he chuckled and handed over the money.

Sam could feel his eyes as they walked out the bar.

“I thought I was supposed to be teaching you,” Dean muttered, scratching his head. But there was definitely a hint of pride in his voice.

“You can teach me pool, Dean, but I’ve always been a better hustler,” Sam quipped, as they made their way to the motel.

Dean gave him a sideways look. “Dude, you haven’t hustled once in almost three years since we got back on the road.”

Sam smiled. “Sometimes at Stanford…” He shrugged. “When funds were a little low, this is what I’d do.”

Dean raised an eye brow. “Really?”

“You said it yourself, remember? It’s what we were raised to do. It’s what we’re good at.”

“So all that crap you gave me about honest work, that was…?”

He laughed, but he didn’t answer.

_I’ve got my brother back_ , he thought happily. 


	52. Claim - A Very Supernatural Christmas

Sam’s side was warm. Dean wasn’t sure when he’d leaned into him, but it was probably after dinner and three more cups of the Sammy’s Special Extra Spiked Eggnog. It had made him just drowsy enough to not care about the fact that he was cuddling his brother.

Sam’s breathing was even, his heart was beating right under Dean’s hand, and Dean was counting it, using it to remind himself why he was going to Hell. Why it was all worth it. 

“You remember that Christmas I gave you the amulet?” The vibrations of Sam’s voice thrummed deep in his chest and Dean’s fingers twitched at the sensation.

Dean hummed, shifting slightly to feel the sharp edges of said amulet digging into his left pec.

“Remember when it chipped your tooth during a fight?” Sam’s low murmur was blending in with the music that was now playing from the TV.

Dean’s eyes were at half-mast and he struggled to focus on the question. “Yeah, I remember.”

Sam’s fingers were lightly scratching through his scalp. Dean didn’t quite purr at the sensation, but he arched into it with a happy sigh. He really needed to scold Sam for treating him like a kid. Maybe tomorrow.

“Dad kept telling you to take it off. Said you’d seriously hurt yourself one day.”

Dean sighed. “Screw that. I ain’t taking it off. Not ever. It's for protection, remember?"

Sam chuckled, his body shaking under Dean. “We’re never gonna talk about this after tonight, are we?”

“Nu-uh.”

Sam sighed, but it sounded fond. Dean was really having trouble keeping awake now. He let his eyes drop close and he had just time to wonder if he’d imagined Sam’s lips pressing to his hairline, before falling asleep.


	53. Quest - Malleus Maleficarum

A blonde vessel wasn’t a fluke.

Despite what Azazel's daughter had surmised about the Winchester brothers, Lilith had preferred their original plan: drive the brothers apart, stick to Sam Winchester, do not bother interfering with the other.

But one look at the way the two of them interacted and Ruby knew it wasn’t going to work. There was no way to come in between them, not when they trusted each other so boundlessly.

That, unfortunately, meant she couldn’t let Dean die. The hex bags were slow working, thankfully, so it gave her enough time to mix up the antidote to shove down his throat.

_This had better work_ , she thought furiously as she straddled the choking man who was very stupidly trying to fight her off. She didn’t like Dean, with his brashness, his cavalier ways, his utter disregard. His only saving grace was his love for Sam. It was sickening, to be honest.

Still, she really hoped this whole plan of Lilith's worked. She’d rather not be saving this sleaze ball for nothing.


	54. Liar Liar - Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Sam was a good liar. _Really_ good. When he was around 12, Dad had realized that while Dean was virtually unbeatable at charming people and flirting his way into wherever he needed to be, Sam had the kind of features that made people want to _“cover him with a blanket and keep him happy and safe.”_ Those were the words Dean had used, not Dad, obviously.

Dean could lie too, but he was too smug, too giddy about fooling people and that made him seem untrustworthy to anyone who didn’t let attraction rule their brain _(which was more often than not, actually)_. Sam, on the other hand, had the dimples, the soulful eyes, the whole nine yards- people took one look at him and, despite his size, pegged him as an innocent flower who could do no wrong.

Dean, for all his perceptiveness about his brother, fell prey to this all the time. So did Bobby. So had Dad. And Ellen, and Jess, and pretty much everyone else.

And he used it to his advantage today, twice. 

“You sure it was just the dream root, boy?” Bobby asked. “Not your psychic mojo?”

“No,” Sam answered immediately, then frowned, feigning consideration, when he was actually recalling the sensation of fear and panic and adrenaline, the tingling at the top of his spine when he’d taken control of the dream. “At least, I don’t think so.”

It worked. Bobby nodded, accepting his answer.

“When you were in my head, what else did you see?” Dean asked, voice carefully measured to hide his insecurity.

“Uh, nothing, just Jeremy.” Sam didn’t even have to think about the answer, but in his mind’s eye, he remembered the weird sense of joy he’d felt when he’d found a dream of himself and Dean in the Impala, singing loudly together. “He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean, who saw the danger in everyone but always only believed the best of Sam, took his words as gospel, just as Sam had known he would.

Sam’s little talent also meant he was good at catching other people’s lies. Even _Dean’s_. _Especially_ Dean’s. “What about you? You never said.”

Dean shook his head, shrugged. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

Sam decided to let it go. _Sure, Dean. Whatever you say._


	55. My Castle Crumbled Overnight - Mystery Spot

Sam was looking at him like he was a ghost. Dean stopped singing, turned the volume of the radio down and frowned. “I really did think you love Asia, dude,” he said attempting to draw out a smile from Sam.

Instead, his little brother was climbing off his bed and into Dean’s, pulling him back onto the mattress. Dean didn’t fight it, but he froze stiff when Sam lay down, curling into himself with his head on Dean’s lap.

On. Dean’s. Lap. 

What the hell?

“Sam?” He asked, gingerly. “What the hell, man?”

Sam didn’t answer. Dean tried to turn him, to get a look at his face, but he refused to budge. He was trembling all over and Dean grew cold when he realized Sam was crying.

“Sammy?” He exclaimed, panicked and worried. “Sammy, hey, come on, you’re worrying me, dude, what’s wrong?”

Sam drew in tighter, shaking his head. He searched blindly for Dean’s hand, found it and dragged it to his own hair.

The demand was clear. Baffled, Dean began carding through his hair, trying to keep himself calm. Sam needed him to keep his head. “Was it a nightmare?” He asked in a slow soothing voice.

Sam nodded.

“Clowns or midgets?”

There was a small growl, thick with tears and snot.

“Okay, something worse,” Dean muttered. He’d guessed as much, obviously, but now he had to wonder: what could possibly scare Sam so much that he’d break down in tears like this?

Then it hit him and he felt like a fool. “Sammy,” he said quietly. “Sam, did you dream about me dying?”

There was a whine of distress. “I’m sorry,” Sam finally said.

Dean suddenly found himself curling over Sam, hugging him as best as he could with Sam practically folded in half. Tears pricked his own eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Sam. It’s all gonna be okay.” Because what else could he say really?

They stayed like that, tangled up in each other in a way they were going to pretend never happened.

Dean didn’t notice the pain shooting up his left arm or his shortness of breath until Sam finally sat up, panic and grief and apology all swimming in his large eyes.

Dean opened his mouth to repeat, “It’s okay, Sammy.” But he couldn’t get the words out before his heart felt like it was being stabbed. The last thought he has before everything goes black is: _Death by heart attack. Sam is going to want to kill me for this._


	56. Misconceptions - Jus In Bello

“So, I guess I owe you an apology,” Victor said conversationally, after a few minutes of quiet working.

Winchester- _Dean_ , he correct himself- smirked. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry for trying to put you in prison.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about the forgiveness part.”

There was silence for another minute. “I’m sorry for all the stuff I said about your Dad.”

Dean stopped, stiff. Then he relaxed deliberately and continued loading the shotguns. “You're not the first. We got a lot of weird looks and ugly comments back when I was a teen.”

Victor considered the man’s features: contradictorily rugged and delicate, slightly girlish structure, the kind of face that was more _pretty_ than _handsome_. Yeah, as a teenager, he would definitely have been a target in more ways than one.

“But I gotta ask though,” Victor started, mostly because he didn’t want to think about the Winchester brothers' messed up childhood. “You and your brother? Are you two…?” Victor lamented that there was no easy way to ask: _Are you sleeping with your brother?_

Thankfully, Dean seemed to catch on. “No,” he said, a little sharply. “Just… No.”

Victor threw his hands up in defense. “Hey, relax, man. I’m not judging. I mean, I _was_ , but not anymore.”

“There’s nothing _to_ judge!” He snapped.

Victor nodded, accepting the reply.

After a brief tense silence, Dean spoke up grudgingly. “What do you mean, _not anymore_? Isn’t... incest illegal?”

Victor snorted. “Of course, it is. I just meant…” He shrugged. “If you guys _were_ like that, it would make sense. This life you guys lead seems pretty lonely. And it’s dark. Dangerous. Humans like to have love and comfort. Wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you and Sam found that with each other.”

Dean stared at him, unblinking. Then he looked away. “No, I guess it wouldn't be _bad_ ," he murmured. "But, well, we’re not like that. And in any case…” He hesitated, throwing a quick glance to where his brother was painting some sort of sigil on the floor. “Nothing,” he finished. “Forget about it.”


	57. Facade - Ghostfacers

“Wow, you guys really do need to tone down the PDA,” Ed grumbled.

Both Winchesters turned away from the screen to look at him.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Ed felt the urge to shrunk away from their combined scrutiny. He held fast against it. “I mean, there we were, fighting a ghost, trying to escape with our lives…” He flapped his hand towards the video playing. “And you guys are making heart eyes at each other.”

“We’re not…”

“Yeah, I mean, we get it, okay? You guys are madly in love, you have a passionate and whirlwind relationship, but we don’t need to be seeing it that kind of thing-”

“Ed, shut up, now, please,” Harry muttered.

The Winchesters were glaring at them.

“For the last freaking time,” Dean groaned. “We are not together. We are brothers.”

Ed snorted. “Yeah, right. You guys don’t look anything alike. Not even a little.”

Sam spread his arms. “We have the same last name.”

“Married,” all four of the Ghostfacers chorused.

Sam looked away, seeming to be slightly amused.

Dean, on the other hand… Well. If looks could kill…


	58. Too Much Love Will Kill You - Long-Distance Call

The phone rang and Sam didn’t bother to check the caller ID. Bobby and Dean were the only one who ever called him anyway.

“Yeah?” He said, not taking his hand off his keyboard.

“ _Sammy?_ ”

Sam froze. That voice… “Dad?” He asked in a whisper. Of course, he thought. The monster, whatever it was, had targeted Dean first. And now it was trying to get to Sam, because he was working to convince Dean to not believe the voice over the phone. Of course.

“ _Sam, you know what to do_ ,” John’s voice went on. “ _You know what you have to do to save Dean, don’t you, son?_ ”

Sam swallowed, nervous. “No. No, Dad. I don’t… What do you mean? What do I have to do?”

“ _Dean’s deal is only valid as long as you’re alive, Sam,_ ” Dad said. His voice was soft, but Sam could feel the words piercing his heart.

“Dad…” _It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him,_ he repeated to himself. 

“ _You know what you have to do, Sam. If you really wanna save your brother, you have to die._ ”

Sam couldn’t hear anything except his own breathing. He ended the call, placed it on the table.

Dean barged in. “Got us some food. Eat up, Sammy.”

Sam nodded, not looking at his brother. _I could save you_ , he thought. _I would save you if I knew it wouldn’t kill you too._


	59. Take My Word - Time Is On My Side

Dean knew. He _knew_ he was going to die. It was no longer a distant possibility, or just one likelihood of many. It was official. He was going to Hell.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Bela, as they drove to Bobby’s house.

“Maybe she had a good reason,” Sam said. How did that bitch always know what he was thinking?

“She killed her parents, Sam,” he groused. “I don't see how _anybody_ could have a good reason for that.”

Sam tilted his head at him. “Max Miller did.”

Okay, Dean should have seen that one coming. “Maybe,” he gave in.

Sam slid down in his seat, his body turned slightly turned towards Dean. “Are you scared?”

He didn’t think before answering. “No.” It was instinctual to keep a brave face for Sam. 

Except Sam had had his number for a long time. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay, Dean. We’ll get through this.”

Dean wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. His watch read 01:05. Bela Talbot was dead. In 39 hours, Dean would be too. Sam was wrong. He was an idiot. He was being naïve and optimistic and hopeful and Dean wanted to yell at him. He wanted to beat the truth into Sam’s head with something heavy until he accepted it. He wanted to break down crying and let Sam hold him together like that night after killing Azazel.

Then Sam was leaning over slightly, one long arm stretching over the top if the seat. Calloused fingers brushed the back of Dean’s neck. Like reassurance.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam promised.

Dean didn’t believe him yet, but he started to breathe easy again.


	60. Heart Beats The Same - No Rest For The Wicked

Dean’s screams were ringing in his ear. Sam couldn’t tune it out even though everything was dead silent in reality.

There was Bobby there, saying something about the demons having all disappeared with Lilith, how they needed to get out of here before they came back, how they needed to salt and burn Dean’s body.

Sam didn’t hear any of it. He sat there on the floor, Dean’s bloody form pressed to his chest, rocking back and forth. He’d been so panicked at the sight of the hellhounds tearing into him, so angry and scared and distracted by Lilith, that he hadn’t actually paid attention to Dean’s yells. Had they been wordless pleas for help? Had they been purely terror? Or had he called out for Sam? Trusting, as always, that if nothing else could save him, then his little brother would.

And Sam had failed. Sam had let him down. Sam had promised to save him and he’d broken his word.

Dean’s screams continued to play on a loop in his head.


	61. The Claim On My Life- Lazarus Rising

“Look, just stop thinking about the demons for a damn minute,” Dean said. “We need to talk about this Castiel player. If the demons are scared, it’s gotta be more dangerous than we thought at first.”

“Well,” Sam started and Dean relished the sound of his voice. “I’d _love_ to talk about him more but we don’t know anything about him except that he’s got a really tight grip, if he left that mark on your arm.” He frowned, turning back to the bed.

Dean sighed, knowing he was right. “First shower,” he called. He didn’t mention that it was his third shower of the day after the two he’d taken at Bobby’s. He pulled his flannel and t-shirt off, walking towards the bathroom.

Sam stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Wait.” He tilted his head in confusion. “You don’t have any scars. Not even the old ones.” Sam’s eyes tracked all over bare skin, making him fidget.

Then Sam’s hand moved from his elbow to his forearm. It settled over the brand, on the handprint, covering it up completely.

Dean lost his breath, feeling the warmth of Sam’s skin seeping into him. He hadn’t stopped feeling cold since he’d climbed out of that coffin. And Sam, with these new broad shoulders and swept-off hair, replacing the lankiness and the college-boy fringe, seemed bigger than Dean remembered. He looked more dangerous. He felt safer.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said, voice slightly hoarse. "Looks like whatever brought me back, gave my body a full makeover."

“I don’t like this thing,” Sam muttered, glaring at where his palm was.

Dean managed a smile. “Yeah, me neither. Feels like…”

“Like a claim,” they finished together.

Sam smiled back, dimples deep and real, and he looked more like the little brother Dean had left behind.


	62. Potential Danger - Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester

“Look,” Sam said, for the hundredth time. “Let’s say for a second that God isn’t real. But why not angels, Dean? I mean, if demons are real, then why not their counterpart? Like, yin and yang?”

“Sam,” Dean groaned. “I know you want logical reasons for stuff, but, man, why is it so hard to just accept that I don’t like this Castiel dude?”

“Oh, okay, so it’s specifically Castiel that’s the problem, not angels?” Sam caught on to it immediately. "You've only met him once, Dean, and he's the one who saved you. Give him a chance, maybe?"

Dean sighed. “No, angels are still a no-go for me. Castiel is just a specificity.”

“Why?”

Dean squirmed. “He was looking at me weird,” he muttered.

Sam frowned. Dean didn’t usually let anything affect him so easily; with apparently nothing but a look. “Weird, how?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shook his head. “Like… Like I was some sort of really interesting experiment. Or… Something that was going to be really useful to him.”

Sam didn’t like the look in Dean’s eyes; it was discomfort. Not an expression that he was supposed to wear.

“I mean, he did say ‘ _God has work for you_ ', right? Maybe that’s why?” It sounded like Dean was grasping at straws. 

Sam swallowed and nodded. He was being stupid, he told himself. Angels were the good guys. They weren’t going to hurt Dean.

No, Sam only had to worry about Lilith. And he was more than prepared for _her_.


	63. A Little Like Hell - In The Beginning

“Your brother isn’t looking for you, Dean.”

That hurt. Dean felt a weird stab in his chest because it didn’t make sense. Sam, not looking for him? He was a very light sleeper- he should have woken up within a minute of Dean being gone.

He tried to tell himself that it was enough that he got to spend time with Mom, that he got to see Dad the way he was when he was young and in love. He didn’t need Sam to be by his side every second. He didn’t.

It was just that…

For the whole week since he’d returned, Sam hadn’t let him out of sight. He’d always been close by, constantly within reach, or earshot at the very least. Dean had been pretending to be annoyed, to feel stifled. But Sam seemed to be onto his act and he hadn’t let up on the easy touches or the soft smiles or the careful once-overs, like he needed to make sure Dean was okay.

Dean preened under the attention. With all his nightmares, all the flashes of too-clear memories, Sam’s presence was a balm.

So, Castiel saying that Sam wasn’t looking for him? Not that he didn’t know Dean was missing, but that he wasn’t looking for Dean.

It hurt. Hurt like… Well, maybe not like Hell. But like a bitch. Maybe a little like Hell. 

Why wasn’t Sam…?

No. No, Cas had to be lying. Or he didn’t know what he was talking about.

Dean had his money on the second one.


	64. Everytime We Touch - Metamorphosis

Sam flinched.

They were walking around the motel room, unpacking clothes and weapons. Dean had reached for him on instinct, wanting to check the scratches on his face from the rugaru.

And Sam flinched. He flinched away from Dean. 

They both froze.

Dean felt his heart grow cold. There had been a soul in Hell, just a boy really, who’d resembled Sam only enough to give him pause. But Dean had cut into him anyway.

“I wasn’t… I was just going to check,” he said, voice hoarse. “I wasn’t gonna hit you again.”

Sam’s eyes widened in what seemed like shock. “No, man, no! That’s not why… Dean, I would never be scared of you because of that. Come on, we’ve hit each other when we were pissed off a million times before.”

Dean swallowed. Sam was right. But that didn’t explain why he’d looked so… So vehemently opposed to being touched by Dean. Coupled with the bruise on Sam’s face that Dean had put there, who could blame him?

“Why then?” He asked. “What, you think I’m different? That Hell made me different? And now you don’t want me anywhere near you?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone, though he knew his words didn’t make sense. After all, Sam had been the one to stay attached to him by the hip since he’d come back.

Sam shut his eyes, turning away slightly. “It’s not you, Dean,” he said quietly. “I swear to you, this wasn’t because of you. It’s me.”

“That’s what she said,” he muttered.

“Dean.” Sam looked at him, eyes crinkled, lips turned down slightly. “Please. Don’t make me explain. Just please believe me, it’s my fault, not yours.”

_You’re not making sense!_ Dean wanted to scream at him. “Whatever, man,” he said instead. “I’m beat.”

“Dean-”

“Take first shower. I’ll go get dinner.” He let the door slam on his way out.


	65. Filthy Fingers, Dirty Hands - Monster Movie

For the first time since 15 years old, Sam felt jealous watching Dean flirt with a girl. And the kicker? He wasn’t jealous of _Dean_ ; he was jealous of _Jamie_.

She got to _touch_ him. She got to hold his hand and stroke his face and wrap her arms around him.

And Sam? Sam couldn’t do that. Not when he could feel Ruby’s touch, could smell her on himself no matter how many times he showered. Not when he still had her blood in his veins.

He could go another month, maybe, before he began craving another hit. Before then, he would have to figure out a way to either convince Dean to see things his way or he’d have to cure himself of the addiction without Dean noticing.

Which, _heh_ , wasn’t very likely to work out.

Sam knew Dean was hating the physical distance between them. To an outsider, it wouldn’t even be visible, but to them, touch was everything.

Touch was _don’t worry, I’m alright_. It meant _please be okay_. It was their way of saying _hey, I’m here for you_ or even _stay with me_.

And despite Sam’s proclivity towards intellect, he couldn’t help the completely irrational fear that if they got too close, then Dean would uncover his last remaining secret. Even worse, Sam felt like if they touched even the barest bit, he would somehow transfer this sick disease inside himself onto Dean.

Dean didn’t deserve that.

So, Sam stayed back and put on an Oscar-worthy act of a smile as Dean thoroughly kissed Jamie and held her tight against his own body.


	66. Pain Relief - Yellow Fever

It was pathetic, Dean thought, the way he’d been cowering the last day and a half, literally shaking in fear at everything. Even more pathetic was how he’d kept trailing after his little brother like a kindergartner scared to go to school.

Sam was still shooting him concerned looks and that wasn’t making him feel better.

The worst part was the hallucinations he’d had. Lilith, the hounds, Sam with yellow eyes…

The only good thing that had come out of it was that Sam had stopped shying away from his touch. Dean hadn’t noticed it at the time, too absorbed in his terror, but he could clearly remember now how Sam hadn’t shaken him off when he’d grabbed his elbow, how he’d made sure to stand so close to Dean that their hands were brushing, how he’d repeatedly placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder or chest, trying to offer him some support.

Sure, Dean had spent almost two whole weeks trying _(and failing)_ to initiate that contact, but he’d underestimated how much he really missed the casual touches.

But had Sam only been doing it to comfort Dean? Or was he really okay with it? Was he over whatever weird aversion he’d developed to Dean’s touch? Or had he cottoned on to how much Dean needed it and was simply indulging him?

A foot nudged his calf under the table. “Dude, you with me?”

Dean started, looking up to find Sam peering at him in concern over his pancakes.

Dean kicked back, making sure to hit his knee. Sam grimaced and Dean reached forward to steal one of his pancakes. Fingers and knuckles knocked together and Sam didn’t flinch away.

“You okay with that fork, or are you scared of stabbing yourself with it?” He asked, with a straight face, kicking Dean again, getting his shin this time.

Dean winced, then growled. “I’m setting down this rule right now,” he announced, grabbing Sam’s feet between his own to prevent getting kicked again. “We are _never_ talking about this case, _ever_ again.”

“Sure.” Sam nodded gravely. Under the table, he was wiggling his feet around, trying to escape. “Right after I call up Ellen and Jo and tell them what a lion heart you are.”

Dean rolled his eyes, viciously taking a bit of his burger, while Sam chuckled lowly.

Their feet stayed tangled together and Dean decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth. If Sam was only doing it for Dean's sake... Dean was too selfish to not take it. 


	67. Pairs - It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

“Sam.”

The human startled, likely still strung out from Uriel's initial visit. Castiel truly wished his brother would go easier on their charges.

“What do you want?” Sam demanded. “The other flying dick already gave the memo on my powers.” The reverence from before had gone from his tone, laced with what seemed to resemble hurt. Or betrayal. In hindsight, Castiel felt that he shouldn’t have referred to the boy as ‘The Boy With The Demon Blood'. Humans do not take kindly to finding out there destiny.

“I come in peace, Sam,” he said softly.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Where is Dean?”

Castiel smiled. “He is walking towards the motel from the park right now.”

Sam continued to watch him with suspicion.

Castiel felt an epiphany. “I will not hurt your brother, Sam,” he promised. “He has a task to complete.”

Sam shifted, gaze sharp and distrustful. “And when he’s done whatever you guys want him to? What happens then?”

Castiel tilted his head but did not answer. He _could_ not. The Winchesters were to be kept ignorant of their roles.

“Because, I swear to… I swear, if any of you guys hurt him…” Sam made an odd sound of frustration, evidently realizing that there was no possible threat for him to make. “Why did you come here?” He asked finally.

Castiel allowed himself a smile. “To give you advice.”

“What, on my powers? Or the demon blood in me?”

There was nervousness hidden beneath the nonchalance; Castiel considered revealing Heaven’s knowledge of Sam’s recent addiction, but decided against it.

“I am here to give you a suggestion,” he corrected gently. “Accept the bond between yourself and your brother. It will greatly ease both your pains.”

Castiel knew he was going to be reprimanded by his superiors for saying this. But the Winchesters were soon going to be facing impossible trials, unimaginable torture- mated souls, rare as they were, could feel no greater pain than that of separation. What harm was there in letting Sam and Dean have some happiness of their own?

Sam, meanwhile, was staring at him in what Castiel recognized as confusion. “Uh. How exactly are we supposed to accept it?” He asked. “More than we already have, I mean.”

“By consummating it, of course,” Castiel answered, like it was obvious. Because it was. Did they not know?

Evidently not, judging by Sam’s flabbergasted expression.

Oh. Oh, of course.

Castiel frequently forgot how different times were now from 2000 years ago.

“Put it out of your mind, Sam,” he murmured, feeling a little bit of amusement. “I merely meant… An emotional consummation. Talk with your brother. It may help lighten his burden.”

He flew away before the inquisitive human could ask any further questions; just in time as the Righteous Man walked through the door.


	68. You Talk In Your Sleep - Wishful Thinking

Dean was having a nightmare again. Sam sighed, hands clenched on top of the book, as he tried to stop himself from getting up. He wished he could wake Dean, but he needed the sleep, even if it came with alcohol consumption.

So, he stayed quiet and watched as Dean, lying flat on his back, whimpered softly. He had one hand on his chest, grasped around the amulet. Sam wondered if his soul had worn it too, if it had felt like a small source of comfort amidst all the torture and pain.

“No.”

It was said in a low moan, harsh and strained, like a plea.

“Stop.”

Sam didn’t want to imagine what they must have done to Dean. But he knew he needed to find out, get Dean to open up. Did he really think Sam couldn’t see the fear that was always in his eyes?

“Please. No.”

Sam tensed, wanting to close his eyes, but keeping them trained on his brother’s form as he began to thrash, desperate cries growing louder.

“Please. Stop.” 

He had never heard Dean like this. Ever. It hurt. 

“Sam.”

The sound of his own name did it.

Sam leaned forward, desperate and Castiel's advice echoing in the back of his head. “Dean!” He called, voice sharp and loud.

Dean jerked awake, body curving into itself almost defensively.

Sam tried. He really did try. As much as he could without pushing too hard.

But Dean pulled back just the same. “No, I don’t remember,” he kept saying, like Sam hadn’t trained himself from an early age to spot Dean’s bluffs. Like Dean himself hadn’t taught Sam how to catch a lie.

But Dean said “Please?” Like it was a question, like he was silently begging again, begging Sam to stop the questions, let up on the interrogation.

Sam didn’t have it in him to hear his brother beg.

He let it go. And he knew that if the damn wishing coin hadn't been cursed, then his true wish would have been for Dean to be okay. 


	69. Fissures - I Know What You Did Last Summer

Sam’s confession burned. Dean could feel it worming through his chest, making him feel sick.

He kept his eyes wide open as they drove. Every time he closed them for more than a second, his mind drew up images of Sam and Ruby. With all the years they’d spent in each other’s pockets, there had been too many times when they’d walked in on each other in moments of indecency.

That meant that Dean knew exactly what Sam was like with a woman. And his imagination filled in the rest.

Sam was discussing something with Ruby, looking over Anna files with her. They weren’t touching, but Ruby was looking up at Sam through her lashes, nodding along absently as he spoke quickly, hands flying about in restrained gestures.

Dean wished the demon wouldn’t look so damn fond.

She caught his eye and despite his earlier apology to her, Dean couldn’t stop himself from walking out with a yelled, “I’m going out to the yard for some air.”

Unfortunately, Ruby had followed him out. “I told Sam that I don’t want to come between you two,” she started with.

Dean resisted the urge to answer snappily.

“But I gotta warn you, Dean,” she went on. “You keep stopping Sam from reaching his full potential, then we won’t have any weapon against Lilith.”

“Sam isn’t a weapon,” he growled, turning on her.

Ruby sighed, her whole body swaying as she rolled her eyes. “No, his powers are the weapon. But Sam is the only one who can wield them.”

Dean shook his head, looking up at sky. He would pray for patience, but he didn’t think it would help, considering the kind of angels they’d met so far.

“You know, we’re not all that different, Dean.”

Dean snorted, looking at her derisively. “Do you see my eyes turning black?”

Ruby had a smug look, like she knew something he didn’t. “It’s true,” she insisted softly. “We both want Lilith dead. We both want the best for Sam. We both care about him a lot. Although,” she broke off with a short laugh, sounding bitter. “I guess I can’t actually compete with you on that last one, can I?”

Dean glared, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t refute anything that she’d said. Yes, they all wanted Lilith dead. Yes, Ruby definitely cared about Sam, considering she’d risked her ass multiple times to save him.

But he looked at her and all he could see were her painted nails digging into Sam’s skin, Sam’s large hands framing her face, their mouths and bodies moving together and- and it made Dean’s chest ache.

He didn’t even understand why, really. Sam didn’t hook up as often as he did, but that didn’t mean he was celibate. He wasn’t. Dean had never been bothered before.

So why did the knowledge of Sam and Ruby’s tryst make him want to kill something?

Was it because she was a demon? Because it had been more than one night? Or…

_She said exactly what you would have said to me._

Or was it the feeling that she’d replaced him while he was in Hell?


	70. What Comes Around - Heaven And Hell

“Hey, Ruby, you seen Dean?”

Ruby pointed her thumb towards the field outside, where the Impala was parked.

“Great, okay,” Sam sighed in relief. He was still strung out from all the excitement of the day. It was too dark outside for him to make anything out, but it was enough to know where Dean was exactly. He wouldn’t leave for anywhere right now.

“Uh, where’s Anna, though, have you seen her?”

Ruby seemed to hesitate for just a second. Then she pointed again, in the same direction.

Sam froze, feeling his lungs seize up.

He turned slowly, walked towards the window. He couldn’t see the car, it was too shrouded in trees and tall grass.

He knew why Dean was with the angel at this very moment. It was nothing but pure payback, nothing but revenge.

Sam turned away from the glass panes.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve…” he cleared his throat. “I’ve got a plan, to get rid of everything on our tail. The angels, Alistair- all of them.”

Ruby nodded, slowly getting to her feet. “You don’t want to run it by Dean first?”

Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I’ll tell him later. I need to tell you your part first.”

He stared at Dean when be came back inside. Dean didn’t meet his eyes.


	71. Coffee Is Oxygen - Family Remains

Sam was asleep in the backseat, stretched out as much as possible.

Dean was staring at his reflection in the rear view mirror. He was tempted to turn around, but if Sam woke up suddenly, which he had a tendency to do, then Dean wouldn’t have the time to pretend he was searching for cases. Which he actually _was_ doing, sure, but he was just also watching Sam at the same time.

It was weirdly soothing, tracking the slow rise and fall of Sam’s chest, trying to breathe quietly so he could hear Sam humming. It was a Billy Joel song right now, which, _eh_ , Dean could accept that choice.

He should go to sleep too, he knew. If he didn’t, then Sam would probably bitch him out.

Except Dean couldn’t deal with the nightmares, the memories. Sam didn’t like him drinking too much. And he knew, from experience, that the only way he could sleep without nightmares, _without_ touching alcohol, was if Sam was sleeping right next to him, stuck to him like white on friggin rice.

And as nice as that would be, Dean had too much pride to ask that of Sam, to clutch at his brother’s form and beg him _fix me._

So, he stayed awake, took another swig of the cold coffee and searched for a case, all the while with half his attention on Sam’s soft sleep-singing.


	72. Freak - Criss Angel Is A Douchebag

Ruby really was wrong. Sam genuinely hated the way demon blood made him feel. Sure, the rush of power that came with it was heady and the sex was actually good, because, well, _demon_ , obviously.

But it made him feel dirty. Unclean. Like he needed to scrub himself with detergent until his skin was raw.

It made him feel less than human.

So he returned to the motel room he had with Dean, hoping to be able to avoid any questions about how long he needed to take a walk.

Thankfully, Dean was just drunk enough that all he did was smile dazedly up at Sam from his bed. “Sammy,” he called out, dragging out the syllables.

“Hey.” Sam tried to smile back. “You fallin asleep finally?”

Dean shook his head. “Was waitin up for you. Can’t sleep without you. Nightmares.”

Sam swallowed. He knew what Dean was asking. He’d asked it himself enough times after Jess. “I thought that’s what the drinks were for.”

Dean pouted, grabbing Sam’s wrist and tugging him down. Sam went stiffly. He’d showered in Ruby’s room before leaving, but he couldn’t quench the paranoia that Dean might smell sulphur on him. Or perfume.

At this point, he wasn’t sure which would be worse.

“Please, Sam?” Dean asked, already drifting off. “Just a little while.”

Sam didn’t answer, just lay still as Dean threw an arm around his shoulder, tucking his nose into Sam’s neck.

_Dirty. Wrong. Freak._

Sam closed his eyes tight and prayed his brother never found out how far off the reservation he’d actually fallen.


	73. Measures Of Happiness - After-School Special

Sam walked out of the building with his back straight and his chin up, drawing himself up to his full height. 

Dean didn’t have to see his face to know he was doing some serious thinking.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He wondered what Sam’s old teacher might have said to put that pensive, thoughtful look on his face.

Sam stared at him as he walked around the car, resting his arms on the bonnet. “He asked me if I was happy.”

Dean’s heart stopped. “And he’s a teacher? Not a shrink?”

Sam shook his head. “When this is all over,” he murmured. “When all this crap with Lilith is over, and your work with heaven, whatever that is, is over…” He looked straight at Dean, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “We’re gonna be happy, Dean. No matter what else happens between now and then, you and I are going to be happy.”

His smile widened a bit before he slid into the car. Dean stood frozen for a second, feeling his heart jump and start over, faster and lighter.

_You and I are going to be happy._

_You and I._

Like it was a given that they were going to be together in that happiness. 

“Sure thing, Sammy,” he muttered with his own grin and got behind the wheel.


	74. Love Like There's No Tomorrow - Sex And Violence

“Come on, Dean,” Nick whispered, leaning a little closer. “Let’s go back to the motel. All you have to do is kill one unimportant person, then we’ll be together forever.”

Dean shivered, turning to look at him. “Forever?” He asked. The venom had made him lethargic, almost drunk. Exactly how Nick wanted him to be.

“Forever,” he promised. “Just you and me, big brother.”

Dean swallowed. His eyes were fixed on his face and Nick basked in the desperation. It had been ages since he’d felt love and devotion on this scale. If he had been human, he would have envied Sam Winchester.

“Promise you’re not gonna try and leave me,” Dean spoke in a rushed whisper. “Promise you’re not going to lie to me, or, or, do reckless, dangerous evil crap behind my back, or, or…”

“Dean,” Nick stressed, reaching out to cup his hand around the back of Dean’s neck. “I promise. I promise I’m never going to do anything like that. I love you, Dean, and I don’t need anyone or anything else in my life. Ever.”

Dean nodded, shutting his eyes and leaning into his touch. “Good. Because, Sammy- Sam is- I can’t keep doing that.”

“You won’t have to,” Nick promised sweetly. “Come on. Let’s get rid of Sam and then we’ll celebrate.”

Dean got a determined look on his face as he began to drive.

Nick hid a smug smile. When the venom wore off and Dean realized what he’d done… Oh, it was going to be delicious.


	75. Venomous - Death Takes A Holiday

“Did you mean it?” Sam asked.

It was out of the blue and Dean looked at him with a questioning frown. “Mean what?”

Sam carefully didn’t look at him. “The thing with the siren. You keep asking me if I meant what I said. I’ve been meaning to ask too: do you really feel like that? Like you don’t know me anymore? Like, I’m not really your brother anymore?”

Dean exhaled slowly.

Sam went on. “I know I didn’t tell you about my powers at first. And I know you know that I don’t tell you how often I call or meet up with Ruby. So, I’m just saying, if you really feel like you can’t trust me anymore, I won’t blame you.”

It was the truth. Sam had lied to Dean, was still lying to Dean. How could he hold it against him if Dean no longer had the same blind faith in Sam that he used to?

It just… Hurt.

“So, just tell me, please, Dean,” he requested softly. “Did you mean what you said?”

Dean didn’t answer. “Get some sleep, Sam. We’ve got a long drive.”

Sam closed his eyes, swallowing back the taste of bitter regret in his throat. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”


	76. Masterpiece - On The Head Of A Pin

“Oh, being alive hasn’t done you much good now, has it, boy?” Alistair laughed.

His boy kept his back to him, muscles stiff under the shirt.

“You’ve gone all soft,” he went on, feigning disappointment. “Still… You’ve got all that potential. Won’t take me too long to carve you into the…” He paused, licking his lips as he searched for a word. “The exquisite animal I’d made you into.”

Dean wasn’t trembling- good. He wasn’t completely putty then.

“So have you told your little brother all the details yet?” He asked. “All the dirty little things we got up to in the middle of all the blood and gore?”

Dean tensed further. He turned around with the Kurdish knife, it’s edges crusted in salt. “Shut up,” he whispered. The knife slipped between his ribs.

Alistair cried out, half agony and half ecstasy. “Oh, oh, boy, you’re working real hard to get your master’s approval, huh?” He chuckled, the sound broken with pain. “So, I guess, this means you _didn’t_ tell your darling Sammy. Scared of how he’d react, huh, Dean?”

Dean glared, frozen in his anger, lips pressed as he tried to restrain himself from talking back.

“How do you think he’d feel if he finds out that you didn’t hesitate to make a carving of your own out of that boy who looked just like him?” Torture that pierced the heart was just as sweet as torture inflicted on the flesh. One hurt the spirit, the other broke the soul. 

Dean swallowed, twisting the knife.

“How do you think he’d feel if he finds out how pretty you begged when it was his face in front of you, his hands cutting and slicing your skin off?” Alistair screamed. 

The knife was pulled out, slashed angrily, sloppily, across his chest, all pointless rage and no technique. Dean was panting, eyes aflame.

Azazel grinned back. “You think he’ll look at you the same, Dean? Will he see his brother?” His smile turned even more lecherous. “Or will he see the monster?”


	77. Feels So Real - It's A Terrible Life

“That was amazing!”

Dean didn’t bother trying to restrain his answering smile. “Right?!” He laughed. He let the younger man help him up and found himself standing too close to him, their chests almost touching, their breathing in sync.

“It was definitely awesome,” he replied, breathless.

“Right.” Wesson nodded, eyes dropping down to Dean’s lips.

Dean tilted his head up, better to meet his sparkling eyes. The air between them felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline and victory.

“Right,” he mumbled. He wondered if their heartbeats would be coordinated too, if he were to reach up to place his hand on Wes- _Sam’s_ chest.

“Dean,” Sam murmured. He was leaning down.

“Yeah?” He whispered back. He felt high, flying on the wings of triumph.

Their lips met before Dean knew what was happening. It didn’t matter who’d made the first move, because right now, Sam’s hands were skimming up his back and, _oh friggin hell_ , his hands were impossibly large and warm and felt too good. It was almost weird, having to face _up_ to kiss someone. Not many people were taller than Dean. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when every one of his senses was overwhelmed by Sam; the firmness of his chest, the softness of his hair under Dean’s fingers, and when Dean pulled at the strands, the way Sam whimpered softly into his mouth-

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden feeling of _wrong_ that hit him. The feeling that if he didn’t let go of Sam’s lips, then something really bad was going to happen and-

“Oh god, oh my god, Dean,” Sam whispered in a moan, as he moved to graze his teeth against Dean’s jaw. “I’ve been wanting to do this for days!”

Dean pulled back slightly. Sam blinked, looking way more adorable than any grown man was supposed to.

“Hey,” he quipped, a hint of nervousness in his smile. He had dimples.

And if Dean were the kind of man to get sappy, he knew he would have fallen in love with this man right then. As it was, if they spent any more time together, he still could.

“Hey,” he said back.

There was a split second of hesitation, because the feeling of _wrongbadnocan’t_ didn’t go away. But neither did the flutter in his chest, like this was something he _needed_ , something he’d been missing without realizing, the same feeling he’d had ever since first seeing Sam in that elevator.

So he ignored the warning bells in his brain and kissed him again, leaning up on his toes to reach his mouth, tracing his tongue over the perfect cupid's bow and groaning when Sam retaliated by nipping at his lower lip and-

“Ow,” he hissed, breaking away. Sam froze, his fingers hovering over the cut on Dean’s hairline.

“Uh, sorry,” he fretted, concern taking over the desire.

Dean waved his apology off. Sam’s arm was still around his waist. “It’s okay, just a cut, I think.” He paused, looking over Sam’s now rumpled hair. There were still some specks of blood on his cheeks. Weird that it didn’t make him look any less than the hottest man Dean had ever seen. “I, uh, I’ve got a first aid kit in my office,” he offered, not hiding his eagerness. “We could continue there?”

He was rewarded with another hard kiss, hard and almost bruising. “Definitely,” Sam agreed happily.

Dean grinned and let himself be tugged along.


	78. Someone Like You - The Monster At The End Of This Book

“Why are you still looking at that slash stuff?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t look up from his laptop, still scrolling. “I'm trying to figure out why they think we should sleep together.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sam,” Dean said, exasperated. “They’re all crazy!”

Sam sighed, looking up at Dean. Dean, who wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. Sam wondered if they were thinking the same thing, as they usually did.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Sam asked. “I mean, last week, we were put in an entirely different life where we…” He swallowed. “Where we ended up making out.”

Dean flushed red.

Sam closed his own eyes, running his hand through his hair. The memory of Dean’s lips moving seamlessly against his own was still at the back of his mind.

“And now,” he went on. “All these people think that we… That we’re…”

“That we have some buried sexual tension for each other?” Dean finished for him in a deadpan way. 

Sam sighed. “I’m just saying,” he said softly. “I don’t… It’s bugging me. I’m sorry, I don’t know why, but…”

“Look, Sam, we can’t control these fans, okay?” Dean reasoned, sitting up on the bed. “But last week? The Sandover life? That _wasn’t_ us. That was Smith and Wesson-”

_Like the gun_ , Sam thought.

“-And they were not _us_ ,” Dean said. “They weren’t us. They were two completely different people, different minds and personalities.”

“But they were _our_ bodies!” Sam pointed out. “And they- _we_ kissed.”

Dean shut his eyes, like he was praying for patience. “Okay, Sam, that had nothing to do with us, alright? Yeah, I know our real memories and feelings were leaking through, but _that_? That _moment_? That was all _them_. That was…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on Sam.

Sam fidgeted under his stare. “What?”

Dean shook his head. “Smith was head over heels for Wesson,” he answered, voice gone soft. “He’d been going slowly crazy over him since they met in the elevator. They’d barely spoken for an evening and he would have done just about anything for him. I mean, even after the argument he put up against leaving with Wesson, he was still typing out his resignation letter next morning.”

Sam blinked. That was new information. He still remembered the sharp ache of heartbreak when De- _Smith_ had rejected him not five minutes after kissing him. “He did that?” He asked in a quiet voice. He thought Wesson might have liked to know about that part.

Dean hummed. “Like I said, nothing like us. I mean…” He chuckled a little nervously. “I’d do a lot for you, Sammy, but I wouldn’t give up hunting even if you made your puppy dog eyes at me.”

Sam smiled back hesitantly.

They didn’t talk about it again.


	79. Blood Ties - Jump The Shark

Sam lay still on the hospital bed, looking pretty peaceful for someone who was in the middle of a blood transfusion. But he was also unconscious, which meant Dean, having filled up the necessary forms, was just sitting there, watching him.

The hospital staff had ruled it as a suicide attempt, as he’d known they would. Dean didn’t bother correcting them.

“Mr McKallen?” An elderly bespectacled man stood at the door. “Hi, I’m the grief counsellor, Aaron Carlson. I’m here to make sure you and your brother have someone to talk to.”

Dean nodded absently, looking back at Sam. “Thanks, Dr Carlson. But all due respect, I don’t need a counsellor right now.”

“It’s easy to feel that way,” the man said gently. “But I would advice on talking to a professional at some point.”

Dean gave another blank nod. He couldn’t quite focus on the doctor’s words. Not when the way Sam looked right now reminded him too much of...

“Mr McKallen, may I please ask you to tell me the exact nature of your relationship with your brother?”

Dean pulled his thoughts away from Cold Oak _(-mud soaking his jeans, blood slick on his hands, Sam’s cooling body held tight against himself-)_ and thought about Adam and Kate Milligan. Two innocent people who’d died because they were related to the Winchesters. Because they hadn’t had anyone to protect them. He thought about how excited Adam had been to find out that he had two brothers.

“Mr McKallen?”

“He’s my brother,” Dean finally answered, his voice gruff and hoarse. “And he’s all I’ve got.”


	80. Run From Me - The Rapture

They stood in dead silence. Sam with his mouth and chin stained in blood. Dean frozen in horror and shock.

“Dean?” Sam called. His voice was steady, not an ounce of fear or regret. He sounded almost defiant. He didn’t feel it.

Dean stepped forward, hands extended.

Sam couldn’t help it when he took a matching step back, putting himself neatly out of Dean’s reach.

Dean stopped. He was wearing an odd expression, like he didn’t know whether to be hurt or angry. “I’m not going to hit you,” he said, almost placating.

Sam wondered if he was imagining the implied _yet_.

“I just want to check if you’re hurt.”

Sam nodded, then shook his head. “I'm not hurt,” he answered curtly.

Dean waited, like he expected Sam to approach of him.

Sam didn’t move. He couldn’t let Dean touch him. Not now. Not when he was caught red-handed, literally. It was like that day of the Rugaru case all over again. Except then, Dean had been bitter and guilty. Now he looked resigned.

“Go wait in the car, Sam,” he said. His voice was soft. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Sam didn’t argue. He walked out, got into the car. This was it, he realized. This was what would finally break their relationship. After being so strained for almost a year- with his powers and Ruby and the angels and the freaking siren- this was the zenith.

Sam closed his eyes. If Dean told him to leave, he would. And it would hurt. Oh, it would hurt like nothing else ever had.

But Sam would do it gladly because he still got to do something good. Kill Lilith, stop the Apocalypse and keep Dean safe. From Hell, from the angels and from himself.


	81. Forgive Me, Father - When The Levee Breaks

Sam Winchester’s cries had quieted down, his body too exhausted to keep up with his brain. His hallucinations were the only thing he was suffering from. And Castiel could feel the pain of that suffering too clearly. The whole house was full of swirling emotions.

Bobby Singer’s love and helplessness.

Dean Winchester’s grief, rage and regret.

Sam’s pain, desperation and self-loathing.

Castiel, despite all the reprimands he’d received, stood on the edge of indecision. The Winchesters were good men; strong, noble and full of love, regardless of the darkness they both carried deep in their souls.

Yes, even the boy with the demon blood.

And now his superiors expected Castiel to… To set them back onto the path of destruction?

Once the Apocalypse began, it did not matter who won and who lost, not for the Winchester brothers. The staggering amount of love they held for each other would be blackened by hate and resentment, lost within the Grace of two Archangels.

Inside the panic room, Sam whimpered the name of his brother. In the room above, Dean could be heard twisting and turning, his soul responding to the pain of it’s mate.

Whether it was writ or not, Castiel prayed for forgiveness for tearing Sam and Dean apart.

He opened the door of the panic room.


	82. Goodbye Note - Lucifer Rising

Ruby watched as Sam drank the nurse dry. For a second there she’d really been afraid that he wouldn’t go through with it. That voicemail from Dean must have been really savage.

That was the other surprise. Sure, Ruby had been surreptitiously trying to drive a wedge between them, but not for a second had she thought it would actually work. The best she’d hoped for was that Sam would convince Dean to see things from his side and Dean would be supportive of the whole venture.

Although, in hindsight, maybe it was better that the older Winchester wasn’t here. Sam might come around and see Ruby’s betrayal as the work of genius that it really was, but Dean would try to stab her just for heck of it.

Sam cared for her, whatever he tried to say, however much he denied it. She’d emulated Dean too well for him to be even just apathetic towards her.

That had been the craziest part of the plan. _Mimic Dean and win Sam's trust_. Who’d have thought?

Sam finished drinking. He wiped the blood from his mouth slowly, his eyes dark with grief.

“You okay, Sam?” She asked. It wasn’t ideal, but she hated to see him in so much pain.

“Do you have a paper? And pen?”

Ruby raised and eyebrow. She rummaged around in the glove compartment of her car and pulled out a large-scale notepad and a cheap pen. “It’s almost midnight,” she muttered.

Sam took it from her. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Bending over the hood of the car, he wrote fast, hand moving in frantic motions.

After a minute, he straightened. Ruby knew better than to call attention to the wet glimmer in his eyes.

“After this is over,” he said. “Can you please give this to Dean?”

Ruby stared. Of course, she thought, not without bitterness. “You can give it to him yourself,” she told him.

Sam choked on a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll survive this, Ruby, I told you. And even if I do,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Even if I do, I don’t plan on living past this night.”

“Sam-”

“Please,” he cut in, close to begging. “Please, just promise you’ll give it to him. And…” He tried to smile, a weak attempt. “Try not to get stabbed on sight by him.”

“That’s not funny,” she said, her own voice thick.

His smile turned softer. “Sorry. And… Thank you. Thank you, Ruby.” He held out the letter.

Firmly squashing down on the guilt she felt, Ruby took the letter from him, tucking it into her jacket. “I promise, Sam,” she said quietly. “Now… You ready?”

Sam took a deep breath and gave a firm nod. “Let’s do this.”


	83. Kill Me Softly - Sympathy For The Devil

Sam was staring at him as Dean drove to find a motel close to the hospital, in case Bobby needed them during the night.

Dean tried to ignore it, until he couldn’t. “What?” He finally snapped.

Sam flinched. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Nothing. Just… Where are we going to do this?”

Dean made a face. “Do what? We're going to a motel. Where else?”

Sam blinked. “Motel? Uh... Why?”

Dean turned an incredulous look at him. “Are you sure you’re not feeling any after-effects of the blood?” He asked firmly, ignoring how dirty the words tasted on his tongue. “We were just put through angel torture and had our ribs carved and learned that I’m meant to be a celestial condom. I need sleep. And so do you.”

Sam was looking more and more confused. “No, but… You said… I thought…” He made a frustrated noise. “You’re supposed to kill me!”

The half-yelled answer made Dean swear as he nearly lost control of the car. Quickly, he swerved sharply, pulling over on the side of the road.

“I’m supposed to do what?” He asked disbelievingly.

Sam stared back, desperate. “You’re supposed to kill me,” he said softly.

Dean felt his world narrow down to one word. “I’m _supposed_ to?” He asked.

Sam nodded. “You said you would.”

Dean shook his head. “When?” He screeched. “When did I say that?”

“In the voicemail?”

“In the-” Dean felt bile rise up in his throat.

_Sam might need a nudge in the right direction._

“I didn’t say anything like that,” he spoke through grit teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Zachariah messed with it to make sure you would go through with killing Lilith.”

Sam looked like all the fight had left him. “That wasn’t you,” he said, blankly. “That wasn’t you. That… It wasn’t you.”

Was it Dean’s imagination or was there disappointment mixed with the relief in Sam’s eyes?

“What did the real voicemail say then?” Sam asked, looking at him.

Dean thought back to his words, remembered his heartfelt apology, his promise. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat it. “Have you been sitting next to me the whole day, waiting for me to aim my gun at you?”

Sam opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Realization filled him. “No,” he whispered. “You _want_ me to point a gun at you. And then you want me to pull the trigger.” Sam didn’t reply and Dean felt rage fill him. He hit the steering wheel, cursing under his breath. “Damn it, Sam,” he growled. “After everything, _everything_ you’ve done in the past few days- hell, the past whole _year_ \- now you’re planning on checking out on me?”

Sam’s chin trembled and he looked away. “I don’t _want_ to die,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “But I'm not sure if I should be alive. I didn’t think I was going to survive killing Lilith. And I figured, if I could die getting rid of her, then maybe you’d at least remember me for having done something right. But it _didn’t_ kill me and…”

“And so you think that dying at my hands is just as good an option?!” Dean yelled. He hit the steering wheel again, because otherwise he was going to hit Sam. “Damn it, god _damn_ it, Sam!”

They sat in the car in silence for a few minutes; Sam deathly quiet, Dean taking large breaths to quell his anger.

Finally, he reached over to grab Sam’s jacket, yanking him closer so they had nowhere to look but each other.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said, voice hoarse, caught between anger and desperation. “You are going to see this through, you hear me? You are going to help me fix this, and if you try to check out, I will hunt your soul down and drag it back to this earth. You hear me?”

Sam nodded, gaze fixed on Dean. He exhaled slowly, warm breath wafting over Dean’s lips, and Dean was so _tired_. He was tired of everything and a part of him wanted nothing more than to just forget everything that was wrong and pull Sam closer to breathe him in.

But there was still guilt in Sam’s eyes and there was still the sting of betrayal in his own chest and too much was happening to be able to afford that kind of comfort.

Dean let him go. “We should rest,” he mumbled.

Sam didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.


	84. The Dreamer - Good God, Y'all

When he’d been suffering from the psychic visions, courtesy of Azazel, Sam had taught himself to be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality.

So, when he went to sleep in the passenger seat of a tow truck and opened his eyes in the backseat of the Impala, he knew he was dreaming. It was confirmed when he found Dean stretched out in the front, smiling fondly at him.

“Dean,” Sam murmured. Since it was a product of his subconscious, he could be as indulgent as he liked. He sat up, leaned forward so he could be closer to Dean.

Dean copied his movement, shifting his torso forward, bringing his face to right in front of Sam’s. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted with smile that was too sweet to be mocking.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, lowering his eyes. The Dean in real life would barely let him speak, brushing him off with stilted forgiveness.

Not this Dean. “Hey, hey, no, Sammy,” he crooned, reaching to brush a hand through Sam’s hair.

Sam leaned into the touch like he was starved. And he was- for affection, for understanding, for Dean.

“I get it,” Dean continued. “I get why you did what you did. God knows what I might have done if I was in your place and someone told me I could save you.”

Sam felt himself choke up.

“But you have to come back, Sam,” Dean said softly. There was a hint of pleading in his voice. He cupped Sam’s cheek, tilting his head up to look him in the eye. “You have to come back. You can’t just leave me like this.”

“It’s only for a little while, Dean,” Sam insisted. “I promise you, I’ll come back.”

“When?” Dean asked, his voice breaking.

Sam sighed. “I don’t know.”

Dean smiled at him sadly.

And Sam woke up, the driver of the truck alerting him of their arrival in the next town.

He put the dream out of his mind. It was wishful thinking anyway, that Dean wanted him to come back. Sure, he didn’t want to kill Sam, he wanted Sam to keep hunting and do his part in preventing the Apocalypse. But that didn’t mean he wanted Sam _with him_.

A week later, he dreamed again. This time, it was Jessica next to him on the bed.


	85. Distractions - Free To Be You And Me

Dean was laughing. It was a nice look on him. For the first time since picking his soul in Hell, Castiel felt the burden on the human’s shoulders lighten a little. It was humbling, knowing that he was in part responsible for that.

“I’m happy,” Dean said.

Castiel thought he should leave it that. But truth be told, whether Dean was happy or not in the moment, he was still discontent.

“Even without Sam?” He asked.

And Dean’s smile dropped.

It was interesting, Castiel mused. Dean was talking about how he couldn’t do his job when he was too concerned about Sam. Did he truly expect to be able to do his job when Sam was _not_ there? Did he feel he would worry _less_ if Sam wasn’t in his line of sight?

Castiel had spent the whole day with him on the ‘ _case_ ’. He did not doubt that Dean had genuinely wanted to help him, but the deeper, more simple deduction: Dean was doing everything he could to distract himself.

“I’ve had more fun with you in one day than I’ve had with Sam in years,” Dean lamented.

Castiel resisted the urge to point out that it would be difficult to enjoy oneself when your soul is bound for Hell or when every demon and every angel is trying to hunt you down.

He disappeared, but lingered, invisible, to observe.

Dean shook his head, obviously frustrated at Castiel's vanishing. Then melancholy stole over his features. He pulled out his phone and, as Castiel watched surreptitiously, his thumb hovered over his brother’s name.

_Call him_ , Castiel urged silently. It made him dizzy to watch Dean’s quiet yearning for Sam. 

But Dean, stubborn human that he was, put the phone back away and kept driving.

Castiel felt the human need to roll his eyes. It took great effort not to give in.


	86. Back To You - The End

His future-self and Lucifer’s words didn't leave Dean alone, even as they checked into a motel. Sam was still stiff, fidgety and Dean couldn't stop sneaking glances at him.

The memory of Lucifer was still fresh in his mind- standing tall, proud and beautiful, looking every bit the Morningstar.

_Thank you, Dean. You pushed him away. And in that, you pushed him into my arms._

_Don’t you get it yet? We did this! We shut Sam out and we lost him because of it!_

_Poor Sam came crawling to me. All because he was convinced that you hated him._

_You hate me this much? You hate seeing what you’re going to become? Then you get Sam back and you hold on to him and you never let him go again!_

“Dean?”

Dean looked up, found Sam watching him warily.

“Are… Are you okay?” He asked tentatively. The unspoken _Are you changing your mind?_ was clear as a bell.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said before he could gather his thoughts.

Sam’s brow furrowed.

“I’m sorry I let you go at River Pass,” he elaborated. “I shouldn’t have. I should have explained myself. I should have dragged your ass back right then and there.”

Sam’s hand shook as he ran it through his hair. “Why are you saying this?”

Dean stepped closer. “Because I meant what I said. I can’t do the job if I’m worrying about you. And _not_ being with you? That’s worse. We’ve got angels, demons and now the freaking devil on our respective asses. And I can’t- I don’t _want_ to leave you alone in all that.”

Sam was nodding, but his eyes were hooded, dark.

“I mean it,” Dean whispered, desperate for Sam to believe him. “Sammy… The last three days, I got a glimpse. I realized who I become when you’re gone. I don’t… I’m not _human_ without you, Sam!” The image of himself as a cold, broken shell of a man crosses his mind. 

Sam met his eyes.

“And maybe that’s a selfish reason to keep you around,” Dean admitted. “But I don't care. I need you with me. I _want_ you with me.”

Sam exhaled slowly. “I think we’ve already established,” he said softly. “That I self-destruct pretty drastically without you too.”

Dean felt a knot in his chest loosen. “So we stick together, right?” He asked, hopeful.

Sam tried to smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We stick together. Always.”

Dean hated that he could still see doubt in Sam’s eyes, along with fear, grief and regret. Well then, he would make sure Sam got the message eventually.

He cocked his head inquisitively. “There's a bar down the street. They serve food too.”

It was an invitation and a promise and another apology all in one.

After a second of hesitation, Sam nodded in agreement and, in doing so, accepted all three. 


	87. Peace - Fallen Idols

It was early dawn when Sam realized he couldn’t drive anymore. Dean’s sleep was restless; he kept tossing and turning uncomfortably, body obviously still aching from getting smacked around by Paris freaking Hilton. The emotional ups and downs of the last few weeks, the stress of Lucifer and the angels, followed by a good old-fashioned monster of the week case; they were exhausted.

He shook Dean awake when he found a motel. “I think we need a proper bed tonight, man,” he explained.

Dean groaned, stumbling after Sam with his eyes at half-mast and hand fisted in Sam’s jacket. They both paused at the king bed.

“It was all they had left,” Sam said in apology.

They’d shared beds before, of course. But not in over a year.

Dean peered at him. “Don’t you think you’re a little too independent to share a bed with your big brother?”

Sam felt panic rise and opened his mouth to protest, to defend, to explain. Then he spotted Dean’s smirk and the mischief in his eyes. He calmed down instantly, huffing in fake annoyance. “Please. We both know you’re the cuddlier one between the two of us.”

“Hey.” Dean pointed a threatening finger at him. “I resent that.”

They settled in quickly, working around each other with the same ease they had had their whole lives. It was as if they’d never been apart. When they got in bed, Sam could almost taste the tension that hung briefly in the air. Then Dean slowly shifted closer, one hand in the space between them, fingertips brushing against Sam’s stomach.

“You like driving my car,” Dean mumbled sleepily.

Sam opened his eyes. “Yeah. What about it?”

Dean made a motion that might have been a shrug. “Was wondering why you didn’t take it when I offered at River Pass?”

Sam felt his throat close up slightly. “I never want to drive it when we’re not together.” He remembered the countless times he’d sat in the car when Dean had been in Hell. Dean’s scent was embedded in the leather and Sam had thought it would help to miss him less. It hadn’t.

Dean seemed to understand. “Okay. Goodnight, Sammy.” His voice was soft and it prompted Sam to reach for Dean’s hand, squeezing their fingers together briefly.

“G’night, Dean.”


	88. Love - I Believe The Children Are Our Future

Jesse’s attention was torn. Between the demon in his mother’s body and the two men

The demon spoke her piece after the tall one was done. And now Jesse didn’t know what to do. He had to make a choice.

The demon was looking at him- expectant and smug.

But when Jesse looked back to the men, they only had eyes for each other. There was the feeling of electricity between them, like there was no one else in the room. And for them, there definitely wasn’t.

Like when Mom and Dad looked at each other.

Mom called it ‘ _love_ '. She said that it was the best thing in the world.

Two people who loved each other as much as these two men obviously did couldn’t possibly be bad, right?

Jesse made up his mind and sent the demon back to Hell.


	89. Incensed - The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Dean practically raced the car to Bobby as soon as he realized that Sam was still with the witch.

They reached just as Sam and Patrick stepped out together.

Dean hopped out. “Sam!” He was drawing his gun before thinking about it.

Sam stepped in between him and Patrick immediately. “Dean, don’t,” he warned.

Patrick smiled, smug and charming. He leaned into Sam, one arm slinging around him and rubbing down his arm. “Yeah, Dean, don’t. Sam and I are having such a great time together.”

Sam looked ready to combust.

Dean felt himself growl as Patrick stroked Sam’s hand. There was no mistaking the predatory tilt to his smile. Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, pulling him in with a sharp tug.

Sam didn’t fight it, falling into him easily before balancing himself on Dean.

“Now, if the three of you will please go away,” Patrick said. Pain stole over his face. “I have some personal matters to take care of. Nice playing with you, though, Sam.” He tipped an imaginary salute. “A few people did beat me in the last few weeks but none of them played a game as delightful as you did. If we ever meet again, I’d like to challenge you once more. Without magic.”

Sam’s face was a cross between a smile and a grimace.

Patrick winked and disappeared back into his little playing room.

Dean manhandled Sam into turning around, quickly shoving him towards the car where Bobby was waiting.

“You okay?” Sam asked in a whisper.

“Cut it a little close there,” Dean admitted. “But yeah. What about you?”

“Cut it a little close,” Sam mimicked.

Dean laughed. “Yeah, let’s avoid witches for a while, okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam agreed. “Anyway, good to have you back, all shiny and new again.”

“Hell, yes!” Dean crowed.

“You, uh… You gonna go to the bar now, I guess?” Sam asked. “Hook up?”

Dean was sure he didn’t miss the slight resentment. “Ow, Sammy,” he drawled with a smirk. “Did ya miss my pretty face that much?”

Sam huffed. “You wish.”


	90. Move It, Baby - Changing Channels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dub-con warning for this chapter. They're perfectly aware of what's happening, but they don't have a choice because it's the Trickster's doing.

The game show gave way to a room with walls lined in red velvet. The scent of perfume hung heavily in the air. Sam was on the bed, which was round in shape, with covers that were the same red as the walls.

It took Sam three seconds to realize he was naked under the covers. And another two to realize that Dean was next to him, staring at him in shock. _Also naked_.

Sam yelped. He began to scramble away, but Dean caught his shoulder _(on his bare shoulder, oh god, oh god, oh god, not like this-)_. “Don't move,” he snapped, his voice all high-pitched and wrong. “There’s only one cover between the two of us and I ain’t in the mood to see the family jewels, however impressive they are.”

Sam stilled, knowing Dean was right. “Dean, where are we?” He asked, almost afraid to know the answer. “What is this now?”

The door opened and two girls, dressed strategically to show off their assets, sauntered in. Tall, curvy, chocolate skin and red hair. Twins.

“I hate it to break it to you, Sammy,” Dean said, sounding strangled, as the girls approached. “But I’m pretty sure we’re in a porno.”

"What?" Sam was trying hard not to screech. "What, Dean, oh god, this is nuts-"

The twins crawled onto the bed, wearing matching smirks.

Sam wasn’t sure what kind of sound escaped his mouth, but the sentiment was clear: _get me out of here_.

One of the girls straddled Dean, the other climbed over Sam.

“Dean?” Sam squeaked.

Dean turned away from the girl to meet Sam’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he said, voice cracking. “Just… Play along, right? It’s what he wants us to do.”

He held Sam’s gaze, eyes sharp and bright green, and Sam felt himself calming down marginally.

The girl on his lap put a hand on his face to get him to turn to her and the sweet smell of lavender washed over him. With a deep breath, Sam let her kiss him. He could do this, he told himself, firmly ignoring that he could feel Dean moving next to him.

He could do this.

He just had to forget the fact that he was about to have sex at the same time as his brother in the same room. 

All the while, he could hear the way Dean groaned as their kiss grew heated and dirtier. 

_Right_ , Sam thought dazedly. _Easy_.

Oh he was going to kill that son of a bitch for this. 


	91. Slash - The Real Ghostbusters

Sam finished talking about the Colt.

Dean nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said slowly. “So… What, we break into this demon’s house, grab the Colt, and get out alive? Ocean’s Eleven style?”

“Looks like.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“So, hey, I saw you talking to those LARPers,” Sam said. “What were they saying? Anything important?”

Dean hesitated. He thought about the way they'd explained his and Sam's relationship, more accurately than he'd expected, more succinctly than he ever could have. And they'd held hands. Held each other close like it was the most natural thing in the world. Only they weren't brothers. They were partners. They were _in love._

“Naw, nothing important,” he said casually. “What about Becky? She have any crazy moments?”

Sam chuckled. “Well, she broke my heart and tried to let me down easy. I accepted it gracefully and wished her happiness with Chuck.”

“Aww, Sammy, such a kind soul you are,” Dean simpered. “But, I’m surprised she didn't go into the slash thing. I thought for sure she'd be one of those types.”

There was a moment of silence as Sam stared out the windshield, obviously recalling something.

Dean waited.

But Sam shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”


	92. Green - Abandon All Hope...

Lucifer walked closer, coming to a stop in front of Sam. It was like his dreams all over again, but more real. Sam could practically feel the chill emanating from the devil. Weird that Sam was actually taller by a couple inches, not that it made him feel any less scared. Especially when Dean was lying unconscious a few feet away.

“Oh, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Lucifer murmured.

Sam resisted the urge to back away when an ice-cold hand trailed down his cheekbone. “What?”

“You and Dean,” he answered lazily. “Angels can sense their vessel’s emotions, you know. And you… Your love for your brother?” Lucifer laughed. It sounded almost human. “It’s a, a very familiar kind of love, you know. Yeah. Familiar. Beautiful.” Lucifer’s face twisted slightly, with resentment. “Depressing, if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you,” Sam growled, trying to borrow from Dean’s give-em-hell attitude.

Lucifer freaking giggled. “Oh kiddo, you remind me so much of myself. Word of advice: stay away from Michael. Seeing you might make him nostalgic for me and he’ll end up kidnapping you, kinda like a, a replacement, you know? A replacement of me. Although,” he hummed, musing. “I suppose that would ruin his chances of getting Dean to say _yes_. Or improve it, if he plays his cards right, who knows?” He cast a heated, almost angry look at Dean’s prone form. “I mean, big brothers, right? One minute, you think they’ll do anything for ya. The next thing you know, they’re throwing you away like garbage, all because Daddy said so. Because it's for the _greater good."_

Sam felt bitter amusement hit him along with realization: Lucifer was jealous.

But before he could do anything with that knowledge, the fallen Archangel turned away from him, going back to his ritual.

Sam needed to get Dean out of there.


	93. Boop! - Sam, Interrupted

Sam bopped his nose and giggled. Dean regretted agreeing to this case.

“What the hell was that for?” He asked flatly. 

“Proof,” Sam said seriously. “Proof that I love you. It’s a rule, man: you only bop noses of the people you love.”

Dean stared at him.

Sam’s face fell. “You have to do it back to me,” he said in a small voice. “I mean, only if you… You know…”

“Sammy, you’re my brother and I… You know, I feel the same way,” Dean explained. “But I ain't bopping your nose.”

Sam give him a mournful look.

One day, Dean thought viciously. One day he was going to build up an immunity to that puppy-eyed look. Today was, unfortunately, not that day. With a sigh, he pressed his fingertip to Sam’s nose.

Sam grinned, wide and delighted, and tilted his chin up to catch Dean’s finger in a small kiss. Dean felt his breath catch, freezing, Sam’s lips soft and warm under his finger.

“You’re the best big brother ever,” Sam whispered to him, reaching up to grasp Dean’s shoulders again.

Dean let himself be tugged closer. “Yeah?” He was torn between the feel of heat of Sam's mouth and the actual words coming out of that mouth. 

Sam nodded, emphatically. “You’re the best.” He got a thoughtful look on his face. “And you have a nice nose. Good for bopping.”

Dean blinked, then huffed with laughter. “Way to ruin the moment, little brother.” He drew his hand back, pretending his voice didn't sound strangled. 

Sam just gave a silly smile in response. 


	94. Happiness To Be Found - Swap Meat

“Yep, he threw our phones away,” Dean confirmed.

Sam watched him rummage around in the shrubs for all the phones.

“You know, we should probably upgrade these numbers to newer models, just in case,” Dean mused.

Sam nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Dean finally sighed, as they got into the car and began driving. “What?”

Sam looked at him, letting his confusion show. “Gary spent almost two whole days with you,” he said. “How did you not figure out that it wasn’t me?”

Dean shifted, uncomfortable.

Sam waited for a few seconds, then snapped, “Dean!”

“You looked happy,” Dean mumbled. “I mean, you were drunk and I know you’re not really that much of a lightweight, but you get giggly and stuff when you’ve got alcohol in you. And… We’ve been having a bad run lately, okay? Yeah, I was suspicious at first, but then I figured, at least one of us needs to keep our spirit up, right? And… You looked happy, Sam. I was just glad for that.”

Sam sat in stillness for a while. “I don’t…” He trailed off. “It just feels a little hopeless. All of it. But you’re right.” He took a deep breath and turned to look at his brother. “We do need to keep our spirits up.”

“And we need to find a way to proof ourselves against body-swapping spells,” Dean added.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Sam groaned, shifting uncomfortably as his body ached.

Dean shot him a weird glance. “What’s wrong?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No, come on, tell me, what’s wro-” Dean got a wicked look on his face. “Oh. That’s right. Gary took your meatsuit for a test drive. Really hot blonde, total alpha female type.”

Sam thumped his head against the window. “Dude, judging by the evidence, I’m pretty sure she was a dominatrix.”

Dean blinked. Pursed his lips.

Sam glared. “Dean, I swear, if you start laughing, I will-”

Too late. The car filled with the sound of Dean’s gleeful joy.


	95. Turn The Clock - The Song Remains The Same

“You know, this plan could still work,” Sam mused.

Dean dragged his eyes away from his drink to his brother. “What plan?”

“Anna’s plan,” Sam said. “Kill me. Destroy my body. Lucifer would find it a little harder to bring me back. Apocalypse averted. Job done.”

Dean was shaking his head before Sam finished. “Sam, Cas said it wouldn’t work. You heard him.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, I heard him. And I _saw_ you glaring like you’d castrate him if he didn’t say what you wanted to hear.”

Dean didn’t have the decency to blush. “Well, in any case, we’re still not doing that,” he snapped. Christ, he was too drunk for this conversation. “We are not killing anybody. And anyway, Lucifer is the _devil_. Cas might actually have told the truth, maybe it won't work.”

“We can take extra precautions.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Extra precautions_?” He repeated through grit teeth.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “We use the Colt on me. Douse my body in holy water. Enochian warding sigils all over me. Burn my body in holy oil. Surround the pyre with a devil’s trap and more Enochian warding. Lucifer wouldn’t be able to _touch_ my body, much less-”

“Sam, for the love of god, will you please listen to yourself?!” Dean finally yelled.

Cas stirred, but didn’t wake.

“I thought I told you not to check out on me! And now you’re talking about killing yourself again and you’re asking me to _help_?”

Sam held up a hand to placate him. “You told me I had to help you clean this mess up. And I totally agree. But _this_ is the most sure fire way to stop the end of the world in it’s tracks!”

Dean threw his hands up. “Oh, okay, well, in that case, let’s kill me then. One Vessel out, should be enough, right?”

“No.”

Dean laughed bitterly. “Oh, so you’re allowed to die, but I’m not?”

“I let Lucifer out, in the first place,” Sam reminded. “It should be me.”

“I broke the first seal!”

“In self-defense!” Sam pointed out. “I mean, the only reason you were down there in the first place was because you were saving me!”

“Oh, okay, so, what you wish I’d never made that deal for you? That I’d never brought you back?” Dean asked, venomous and angry. 

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed.

Silence fell.


	96. Like A Man Starved - My Bloody Valentine

Cas appeared with the sound of wings. “Sam’s process is over,” he informed. “I believe you’ll want to see him now.”

Dean jumped to his feet from where he’d been resting his back against Baby. Cas stopped him for a second, placing two fingers at his forehead. Immediately, the dull buzz of alcohol vanished and Dean’s mind became a lot clearer.

“You’ll want to be sober for this,” he said.

Making a mental note to thank the angel later, Dean dashed into Bobby’s house and down to the panic room. He threw open the door, only to stop short at the sight that greeted him.

Sam was limp on the cot, his skin pale, wrists bloody from tugging at the shackles. He was barely breathing, his eyes were just slits.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, hoarse from begging to God, he knelt beside Sam, undoing the cuffs. Pulling out a scarf from his jacket, he gently wiped the blood away.

Sam stirred. “De?” His voice slurred. “You real?”

Dean stifled a sob. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me, Sammy.”

Sam gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. “M'sorry,” he whispered.

Dean shook his head, holding Sam’s hands in his own. “Nothing to be sorry for, little brother. You tried your best. And you saved our asses. You didn’t even drink from the extra demons, even with Famine working his mojo on you.” Dean paused, feeling slightly guilty. “Heck, I should have _made_ Cas fly you over here immediately. I should have known they’d try to get to you.”

Sam’s breathing was loud, strained. “S'not your fault,” he murmured.

Dean wanted to protest, but Sam’s eyes were already slipping close again. He sighed instead, sitting cross-legged on the ground, and rested his head against the edge of the cot, Sam’s bloodstained fingers twined with his own.

Despite everything, Dean felt a rush of love and contentment. Maybe Famine was wrong, he thought. Maybe he didn’t feel any of that extreme hunger not because he was dead inside, but because he only really needed one thing and he already had it in every way that mattered. Sam.


	97. Hand In Hand - Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid

“Sam, you awake?” 

Sam turned his head towards the sound of Dean’s voice, towards his bed. “Yeah?”

“You know the chances of us both making it out of this are…” He trailed off.

Sam wondered why it was easier to have some conversations in the dark. “Really low. Yeah, I’m aware.”

A short pause, then, “I thought you’d be in denial about it.”

Sam smirked without humor, even though Dean couldn’t see it. “I’m optimistic, not naïve. I think we have a chance of winning, but I don’t know that we’ll survive it.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly.

Sam could sense being watched by him. It was a feeling of safety, knowing that Dean’s eyes were on him.

“You know, Bobby, what he did today, cremating his wife for the second time,” Dean said. “We’re not that strong, are we?”

Sam felt the urge to raise an eyebrow. Since when was Dean so maudlin and introspective? “No, we’re not,” he admitted. “Why are we talking about this, Dean?”

There was a small silence, then Dean chuckled softly. “I was just thinking how terrible of a person it makes me hoping that either both of us die or neither of us does.”

Sam mulled it over. “We can be terrible together,” he offered.

It was the best solution.

He could easily picture Dean’s full lips curving into a reluctant smile. That was the image Sam finally fell asleep to.


	98. Heartbreak - Dark Side Of The Moon

“Get a room,” Dean said shortly. “I’m getting a drink. Alone.”

Sam didn’t argue, his face blank as he got put of the car.

Dean very studiously did not look at him leave and drove to the nearest bar.

How could Sam hurt him like this? All his happiest memories, his Heaven, were of the times he’d been away from Dean. Did Sam really care so little for him? No, he knew that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Not after everything they’d done for each other. But then _why_?

There was a sudden presence by his side.

“Sam gave me your address,” Castiel told him, his own visage sad and defeated. “He asked me to check on you.”

Dean snorted into his glass of whiskey. “Well, tell him to shove his concern where the sun don’t shine.”

Cas sighed. He took the seat next to him. “Why are you upset with Sam? It’s hardly his fault that God refuses to help us.”

“That ain’t what this is about, Cas,” Dean muttered. “This is about how all of Sam’s greatest hits were the times without me. When he was off on his own or with someone else. Not with me.” Huh. He was more drunk than he thought if he was spouting his grief to Cas, of all people. 

For a few seconds, Cas was silent. Then he was shaking his head in exasperation. “Dean, that isn’t Sam’s heaven, at all!” He exclaimed.

Dean peered at him.

“Sam has been to heaven before,” he went on. “I was always more interested in the two of you than the other angels, so I have seen his heaven.”

Dean frowned. “What was in it?”

Cas looked back at him almost helplessly. “You, mainly. Some of Jessica Moore. Just one with your father.”

Dean straightened, hardly able to believe his ears. “Then… Then, what did I see?”

“Zachariah was manipulating both of your heavens, Dean,” Cas explained. “To drive a wedge between you two.”

“Both of ours?”

“How do you think Sam felt watching you with your mother and knowing she couldn’t hear him when he called for her?” Cas asked, soft and gentle. “Why would a memory of your mom crying and fighting with your father be a happy one for you?”

Dean was suddenly overcome with the feeling of horror. What had he done? He’d… He’d just… He’d blamed Sam… He threw the…

“Cas!” He said suddenly. “I need you to take me back to the motel room we were at before.”

Cas frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I threw the amulet away,” Dean whispered. “I was so mad at him… I need to get it back, Cas. I have to.”

Cas hesitated. “Dean… It is likely that the maids will have cleaned out the room. They will have taken out the trash as well.”

“Maybe they haven’t yet,” Dean reasoned desperately. “Please, Cas, we can just check, at least!”

With a sigh, Cas took his arm. In the blink of an eye, they were standing in the motel room. 

Everything was bare, no signs of them ever having been there before, all the blood scrubbed clean.

It took Dean two seconds to walk to the waste bin and check it. It took one second more for him to stumble back with the heels of his palm presses to his eyes because it wasn’t there. The amulet was gone. For 18 years, he’d never taken it off, except to replace the cord, and now it was gone. Tossed out into some landfill where it would be forgotten by everyone else.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said softly.

“No,” Dean said, voice flat and strained. “I’m sorry. You know why, Cas?”

The angel didn’t answer.

“Torture that pierces the heart is just as sweet as torture inflicted on the flesh,” Dean recited Alistair’s lesson. “One hurts the spirit, the other breaks the soul.” He paused, remembering the way he’d dangled the amulet above the waste bin,making sure Sam could see it clearly, before letting it drop. He hadn’t turned back, hadn’t needed to. He’d seen Sam hurt enough times to know exactly how he’d looked at that moment.

“I used Hell’s techniques on my little brother,” he murmured. He shook his head, scoffed bitterly. “Take me back, Cas.” He could never talk to Sam about this, not without hurting him more.


	99. Prayer - 99 Problems

“Do these men understand that their love isn’t a sin?”

Castiel started, looking at the priest standing beside him. His daughter was resting in the next room, with Sam and Dean questioning her visions. “You mean, Sam and Dean?” He asked for clarification.

The priest nodded. “Anyone can tell they’re in love. But they seem to be making great efforts to hide it, even ignore it. Why so? Did they face trouble, wherever they are from?”

“They are not _from_ anywhere,” Cas corrected. “They wander. They go where their duty takes them. Their only home is their vehicle.”

The priest nodded in understanding.

“But you are wrong,” Cas told him. “Partially, at least.”

The priest waited for elaboration.

“They are not wary of homosexuality,” Cas explained. “It is simply that they themselves are not entirely aware, yet, of the love they share.” He figured it was probably best not to mention the incest part just yet. 

“I see,” the priest said softly. “It’s a pity. Their lives seem lonely. They would be much less burdened should they simply accept their love.”

“Indeed,” Cas agreed with a chuckle. “But informing them will not do any good. For all their cleverness and prowess, they are surprisingly oblivious, often on purpose, however subconsciously.”

The priest laughed quietly as well. “Well, perhaps, one day, they will find each other.”

Cas could only hope they would have the time to, before the world ended.


	100. A Hair's Breadth - Point Of No Return

They stumbled into the motel room, both of them drunk off their asses, Sam especially high on the knowledge that Dean was still _here_. Still _with_ him. _Because_ of him.

It was also a good way to quit worrying about Adam.

Dean caught him around the middle, balancing them both. “Easy, tiger,” he chuckled, voice low and whiskey-smooth, as he leaned back against a table.

It sent a frisson of warmth through Sam and he tucked his nose into Dean’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. _I almost lost this._ The thought prompted him to whine unintelligibly.

Dean giggled- yes, he freaking _giggled_ \- and half-heartedly pushed at his chest. “Get offa me, ya big puppy.”

_You walked right into that one_ , Sam thought giddily, and licked daintily at the hollow of Dean’s throat.

Dean shivered and Sam froze. He must have imagined it.

Oh, but there was something he had to say. Slowly, he raised his head, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was a whisper and Sam brought his hands up to place them on either side of Dean’s waist, just in case Dean tried to escape. Dean’s hands fluttered in the air for a moment, unsure, before landing on his shoulders.

“Didn’t say it right back in the car,” he mumbled. “You said _‘no'_ for me.”

Dean was breathing deeply, like he had to remind himself that he needed oxygen. “What else do I really have?” He asked, then paused. “What else do I really need?”

“You have no idea,” Sam said. There was a tightness in his chest, filled to bursting with how much he loved this man. “You have _no_ idea how happy that makes me, that you _trust_ me.”

The air between them was sparse. Sam imagined he could feel the movements of Dean’s lips when he spoke.

“It means a lot to me too,” Dean admitted, voice barely audible, like saying it loudly would take away the meaning. “It means a lot that _you_ trust _me_. That’s why I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…” He sucked in a sharp breath, unconsciously pulling Sam closer. There was barely any space between them, just the table digging into Dean’s lower back and the bed a few feet behind Sam. “God help me, Sam,” Dean said, sounding wrecked and rough with relief and tears. “God help me, but I can’t let you down even to save the world.”

And what could Sam say to that? He had no way of replying appropriately, except pressing impossibly closer, their bodies pressed together, their legs tangled up in each other.

And all Sam could think through the haze of alcohol was _more_ , _closer_ and _please_.

Then the phone rang and Dean stiffened. Sam was overcome with the sudden urge to scream. Snail-paced, he let Dean go, moving away, brushing his hair back.

“Probably Bobby,” he muttered.

Dean nodded, jaw clenched tightly, the glaze of drunkenness gone from his eye, replaced by a confused mask.

He answered the phone and Sam turned away with a deep breath, trying to clear the fog in his mind. _What just happened?_


	101. Twist The Knife - Hammer Of The Gods

In the end, it wasn’t Dean’s speech that did the job. It was watching those two boys, those _brothers_ , bicker and banter and ultimately, stand together against the forces trying to rip them apart. That was what made him decide to take a stand. 

He stuck around for a while, quickly creating his own little pocket dimension _(a Trickster trick, one he’d used on Sam in Broward County)_ and making that Casa Erotica video.

He didn’t plan on sticking around for after.

His words to Lucifer were all true and for all that they were intended to hurt, they were laced through with nostalgia and love. He wondered if Luci could hear the underlying message: _Stop this. Come with me. Let’s go home._ He wasn’t lying when he said he was pissed off at Michael too. But would Michael have gotten the message either? He and Lucifer were like two sides of a coin, too close and too wrapped up in each other and too much in love, but more similar than either cared to admit.

It hurt, like a bitch, watching his brother stick that blade into Gabriel’s illusion.

A small, very small, infinitesimal, part of him had hoped that it would all work out. That Lucifer, for once in the history of mankind, would just _stop_ for a second and freakin _listen_.

But he didn’t.

Surprisingly, as Gabriel made his escape, it wasn’t his own brothers he thought of. It was the Winchesters.

_Sorry, boys_ , he thought, full of regret and reluctant hope that they would actually make it through this. That their love was strong enough to overcome millennia of anger and hate.

For the first time since running away from home, Gabriel prayed.


	102. Crescendo - The Devil You Know

Dean stared, when Sam finished outlining his plan. They were standing on the shoulder of the highway, at night, because Sam had asked him to pull over with the words, “You might crash the car when you hear this.”

He’d been right.

“No,” Dean stated flatly.

In his defense, Sam seemed to take his rejection in stride. “Yes, I know, it’s a bad idea,” he assured. “But it’s our only idea.”

Dean shook his head in quick rapid motions. Truth was, he’d been thinking about it too: how do they get the Devil to jump into his own prison? And Sam’s idea was terrible, stupid, reckless… And good.

It was a good idea. In theory.

Never mind that either way, whether Sam actually succeeded or not, Dean would lose.

And the thought had his heart drumming faster against his chest, as he turned away from Sam, his palms feeling clammy.

“No,” he whispered.

Sam sighed. “I know it’s a long shot,” he admitted. “It’s a long shot that I’ll manage to do it. But… I’m not seeing a third option here. This is the best-”

Between one word and the next, Dean had Sam shoved up against the Impala, fisting his hands into Sam’s jacket.

“The _best_?” Dean snarled. “You, giving yourself up to Lucifer and trapping yourself in a box for eternity, that seems like the _best_ idea to you?”

Sam stayed quiet and Dean wanted to hit him for remaining so damn calm about this. He wanted to knock him out and hide him within himself so nobody could never find him. He… He wanted to kiss him, hard and bruising, mark him up in everyway possible so Lucifer wouldn’t be able to stake a claim.

That was screwed up.

And the kicker? Dean had been feeling this way for a while now. Possibly ever since his trip to the future.

He would never forget the Sam of that time- cold, dangerous, powerful. Evil. And beautiful. So beautiful that it had scared Dean. It had scared him that Sam could ever seem so unattainable to him. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered.

Dean could feel it on his own lips.

“You need to have faith in me for this.”

Dean did have faith. He knew, better than anyone, that if there was only one person in the world who could beat the devil, it was Sam. Dean could easily believe that Sam could do it.

And that was just the problem, wasn’t it?


	103. Time's Up - Two Minutes To Midnight

Cas stated his support for Sam’s plan.

And Sam decided it was a good thing that he and Dean hadn’t… That they didn’t… That whatever had almost happened between them hadn’t happened.

If Sam closed his eyes, he could still feel Dean’s body pressed up against his, their lips hovering too close to each other, their breaths mingling.

No, it was good that Sam had kept himself stiff and rigid, that Dean had stepped away.

Because if Sam was going to do this, letting Lucifer in, then he couldn’t let Dean get his hopes up like that. They couldn’t start something that neither of them would be able to finish. If they were too attached now, it’d be a thousand times worse after giving into this new weird tension between them.

Sam took a deep breath. _It’s better this way_.

He kept telling himself that as he drove.


	104. Hell Is A World Without You - Swan Song

Dean sat on the hood and stared at the lake, its surface dark as oil and just as still. It was the kind of night that he and Sammy would take advantage of, parking out in the open and watching the stars.

But Dean was alone right now and he couldn’t near to look up for fear that he wouldn’t see the stars in the sky, but the ones in Sam’s eyes.

Dean closed his eyes, pretending he could feel Sam’s presence beside him- his warmth, the soft sound of his breathing, the tease of his fingers near Dean’s hand.

His tears had dried out long ago. All he could do now was sit in the dark and suffer, feel the emptiness inside of himself, the sharp ache of loss and regret.

The lake seemed inviting. It would be easy, Dean thought. So, so easy, to sit behind the wheel and take the car into the water, sink beneath the surface, let the darkness consume him until he couldn’t breathe. It would be the easiest thing in the world right now.

Death. Oblivion. Even Hell.

Any of that would be easier to bear than a life without his little brother.

_Promise me you’ll live. No more hunting. Just stay with Ben and Lisa. Have a normal, apple-pie life._

Dean brought his hand up to his chest, curling into his tee, right above the spot where the amulet should rest. He didn’t even have that anymore. That one reminder of Sam and he’d thrown it away.

He was such an idiot. A cruel bastard who was stupid enough to lose the most precious person in the world.

Maybe this was his punishment, for all his sins, all his failures, his weakness in Hell. Maybe this was his bill due, watching Sam sacrifice himself for a world that had screwed him over at every turn.

He never deserved Sam anyway. Sam, who’d forgiven him for everything without a second thought. Sam, who’d learned about Dean’s exploits in Hell and still looked him in the eye to say _You’re still my big brother._

And what had Dean done? Rubbed Ruby and Lilith and the demon blood into Sam’s face. Shunned him, rejected him, left him behind.

No, Sam had always been too good for him.

Dean was a just a greedy son of a bitch who’d wanted more, wanted everything that Sam was.

And now he had nothing.

It was fitting.

With a last longing glance at the peace that awaited in the lake, Dean got into the car and started driving to Lisa.

He had a promise to keep.


	105. Tastes Like Emptiness - Exile On Main St.

It was like looking into a strange mirror.

Dean was staring at him, expression open and vulnerable, eyes wide and disbelieving, hopeful.

Sam should feel the same. Right?

He wasn’t sure. He remembered when Dean had come back from Hell, Sam had felt dizzy, overcome with the urge to grab Dean and squirrel him away to somewhere safe.

He couldn’t feel that now. That urgency, that desperation. 

He _was_ feeling _something_. Something light and airy in his chest. But it was dull. Muted.

Was it his own emotions or just a phantom reflection of the ones playing out on Dean’s features?

“Sammy?” Dean asked, when he was done with all the tests. When he was convinced that he wasn’t dreaming or in heaven. When he was sure that Sam wasn’t a hallucination.

“Yeah,” Sam assured, making sure to keep a smile.

Dean strode forward in one sure step and pulled Sam to him, arms tight around his shoulders, chest heaving with restrained sobs.

It felt… Comforting. Satisfying. Fulfilling.

Sam could keep on listing adjectives if he thought it would help. But it didn’t, so he just let Dean hold him to his content.

His own smile grew an inch more genuine and he nodded to himself thoughtfully. After a whole year, since waking up in Stull, _this_ was the first thing that felt right.


	106. Halfway Happy - Two And A Half Men

Lisa watched from the window of her new house as Dean pulled into the driveway in the truck. She felt a frisson of calm settle through her as he stepped out, looking relatively unharmed. That calm disappeared when a black Charger pulled up as well and Sam Winchester stepped out.

She’d only met him twice. The first time, Ben had been kidnapped and then saved by Dean; she’d been too overcome with panic and subsequent relief to pay him much attention. The second time had been a few days ago. And she could remember all too clearly the look on Dean’s face: lingering disbelief, restrained joy, pained realization.

Right now, as she watched the two men draw closer to each other to talk ( _unnecessarily close_ , her mind supplied), she could just make out those same emotions on Dean’s face, as well as desperate longing.

Sam was saying something, hands gesturing earnestly. Dean was still, like he was fighting not to make a move. He said something in response, head shaking. Sam took a step closer, hand landing on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked up at him and Lisa found herself holding her breath. Then Dean stepped out of reach. Sam’s hand hung in the air momentarily. Lisa breathed a sigh of relief, though for what she wasn’t sure.

Then Sam looked in her direction and she felt her heart stop for a second. His face was blank and, even from this distance, she could feel the coldness emanating from him. There was the barest hint of a smirk on his face, like he was challenging her.

How could Dean not see it?

Then Sam turned back to Dean, said something short, maybe goodbye, before walking back to his car. Dean stayed where he was, watched him drive away. When he started walking back into the house, there was still a look of discontent on his face, of restlessness.

Lisa retreated to the kitchen. She thought about all the times Dean had woken up in the middle of the night, panting and sobbing, with Sam’s name a mantra on his lips. She thought about the times he’d blanked out during sex, always leaving her satisfied but with a look in his eyes that said be wasn’t really with her in the moment. How many instances had she found him in his car, curled up in the backseat with a bottle in his hand and a grey-brown hoodie clutched to his chest?

Then she thought about the way Dean looked at Sam, like he was his whole world. Like if Sam pleaded a little bit more, then Dean would drop everything, would leave Lisa and Ben behind, to got with him.

Lisa was a strong woman. And practical. She loved Dean, Ben loved Dean, and she didn’t want him to go. It hurt her pride, not just a little bit, that Dean would choose his brother over her.

But she also knew that when it came down to a choice, she didn’t stand a chance. She couldn’t go to war with Sam Winchester and come out victorious. No one could.

If she didn’t want to lose Dean completely, her only remaining option was a compromise. 


	107. Empty - The Third Man

Castiel knew it was a gamble to appear before the Winchesters. Sam’s hurt was palpable, if exaggerated, leaning more towards annoyance than actual pain.

He’d known there was something wrong with Sam, had guessed it a few hours after saving him, when he’d stood outside the Braeden's house and watched his brother with nary a sign of emotion on his face, only to turn his back and walk away.

A Winchester who left his brother behind wasn’t really a Winchester.

But the deed was done and Cas had no idea how to fix it. He didn’t even know the problem.

But then he watched Dean. The way he hovered around Sam, the subtle side-eyes to check on him, the look of wonder and gratitude that snuck into his eyes at random moments when Sam wasn't looking…

Cas hoped he was wrong about Sam. He didn’t know if Dean was strong enough to deal with a brother who no longer loved him.

And the world wasn’t ready for a Sam Winchester who didn’t care.


	108. Marble Statues - Weekend At Bobby's

Dean was happy to just collapse when they checked into a motel after landing in the US again. But Sam was wincing with every step, his back obviously aching from being thrown around by the lamia a day ago.

“Need me to work those knots out?” He asked in a groan. They didn’t do it often, preferring to take care of themselves as often as they could. But some cases just called for a post-hunt massage.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam assured, waving him off. 

There was something stilted about it, something uncertain. Dean filed it away for later thought. He may have doubts about his brother’s mental state, but he didn’t want him to be in pain either. “Don’t be an idiot, Sammy,” he grumbled, pushing Sam onto the edge of the bed. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sam obliged, stripping off his upper layers. Dean heard himself wheeze at the sight of the rippling muscles and sharply-defined abs.

“Dude,” he said faintly. “The hell kind of workout have you been doing?”

Sam smirked and Dean had to look away, making his way around to sit behind Sam. It didn't help matters. Sam’s back was a masterpiece of visible strength and power, glistening with patches of blue-black and a light sheen of sweat.

Dean swallowed nervously, as he placed his hands around the bruises and began to gently knead the muscles.

Almost instantly, Sam let out a breathy groan. Dean froze. _Crap_. This was another reason why they didn't do massages for each other too often: because Dean would die before admitting just _how_ good it felt. It didn’t matter whether he was on the receiving end or not.

“Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Right, yeah, sorry.” Hoping Sam couldn’t feel the tremble in his hands, he resumed his work.

As he quickly and methodically worked out the knots, Sam continued to make little sounds of pleasure, almost whimpering when Dean pressed above his shoulder blades.

Dean tried desperately to ignore it. _Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa_ , he chanted furiously to himself.

Sure, there had been a hint of some sort of tension between them before Sam had saved the world, a hint of something more than strictly platonic. But that had been a year ago. Dean couldn’t do that to Lisa. And Sam was obviously messed up from his Cage time. 

_And he's your brother, doofus,_ he reminded himself. 

As Sam let out a moan that was damn near pornographic, Dean decided he needed a better distraction. “Hey, where’s your mark?”

Sam tried to twist around to look at him. “What mark?”

“You know, whoever pulled out of that Cage must have left a mark on you,” Dean explained. “Like, Cas' handprint? It took almost two years to fade completely.”

“Oh.” Sam laughed, a little embarrassed. “Uh, yeah, I have one, but… It’s nowhere above the waist.”

Considering that he’d practically ogled Sam’s bare torso, Dean had already known that. But something about the way Sam said it, all quiet and reluctant muttering, made Dean slow down his movements. “What do you mean? Where is the mark?”

For a few seconds, Sam didn’t answer. Then, with a sigh, he pushed off the bed, away from Dean’s hands, and stood. “Don’t laugh,” he warned.

Dean shrugged.

Sam bent down, started folding the denim cuff of his right leg. He straightened.

Dean stared. Then he burst out laughing.

Sam’s ankle was branded with a very visible handprint.

“I told you not to laugh,” Sam rebuked, but his tone was indulgent, amused.

Dean fell back on the mattress. Try as he might, the mental image of some ultra-powerful supernatural creep dragging Sam up through Hell by his ankle was just hilarious. And Dean hadn’t really laughed in a while.

“Damn, Sammy,” he snickered, as he got a handle on himself. “How do you explain that while getting laid?”

Sam just shook his head in exasperation, but when Dean looked at him straight on, he noticed there was still something off about his expression. Like he was happy, but wasn’t sure if he should be.

Dean felt his heart clench painfully. Maybe Sam wasn’t completely Sam yet. Maybe it wasn’t something that Bobby could fix, maybe it was just the trauma.

Either way, Dean was going to make him okay. No matter what.


	109. La Tua Cantante - Live Free And Twi-Hard

Dean was stumbling, unsteady on his feet, as Sam marched him to their motel. He was moaning about loud noises and bright lights and Sam felt more confident of his plan.

As soon as they got into the room, Dean was suddenly whirling on him, shoving him against the door. Sam reacted on instinct, grappling until their positions were reversed and Dean was the one pinned.

“Dean,” Sam said calmly, one hand tight around both his wrists, the other clamped over his shoulder. “You need to control yourself.” Samuel had told him about the cure, but he was quickly beginning to realize that he couldn’t let Dean know that. Otherwise, he would suspect the set-up. He was going to have lie to Samuel too. Until then, he had to make sure Dean didn’t drink.

Dean stared up at him, eyes dark with want. “You, uh…” He growled in frustration, leaning forward so his nose was skimming along Sam’s collarbone. “I can _smell_ your blood. And I _like_ it.” Dean sounded angry, helpless and scared.

Sam felt the thrill of arousal. “Yeah, that's a great compliment, and I'm flattered that you feel like drinking me dry. But I can't let you do that.”

Did this make him a hypocrite?

A small whine escaped Dean and, to Sam's eternal surprise, a warm tongue flicked out over his pulse. Sam breathed in sharply, making sure to keep his hips angled away from Dean’s. No point in freaking him out. And if anything happened between them now, before Sam found a chance to come clean about his no-feelings problem, then Dean would be even more upset. Sam really didn’t want to deal with an upset Dean.

“Dean, I’m gonna let you go, okay?” He said. He couldn’t risk this type of close proximity. He _needed_ Dean. And he needed him _human_. “Can you promise to stay in control?”

Dean was making an effort to breathe through his mouth. Sam firmly kept his eyes away from the wet pinkness of his lips and his wide hungry eyes. 

“Yeah,” Dean assured, voice hoarse. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a handle on it.”

“Okay.” Sam let go, taking a few quick steps back and turned away. _Cold showers_ , he told himself. _Dead puppies. Samuel in bed_.

When he turned back around, Dean was on the bed, rocking back and forth with his hands clamped over his ears.

Sam sighed. This was gonna be a long night. 


	110. Set You Free - You Can't Handle The Truth

Most of the time, people lie because they don’t want to tell the truth. Other times, it’s because they don’t know the truth.

This boy right here, Dean Winchester? He was of the second type.

There was a truth hidden deep inside himself, so deep that he didn’t know it was there. But it was; written into his bones and singing to the tune of his heart beat, lighting up his soul. He was in love, as sure as the sun's rise and fall. He would die for that love, kill, torture, turn into a monster, all for that love.

And at the receiving end of all that love was his brother, Sam.

But Sam’s truth wasn’t readable, not like it was hidden, but more like it had been scrubbed clean from him. It was rare, but there were some people who were naturally gifted at hiding, born-liars they were. But no matter. No human could resist the spoken question.

Sam would break and tell his truth.

And Veritas could tell from the blankness in his eyes that that truth would break his big brother’s poor heart. She looked forward to it.


	111. Like Fire And Ice - Family Matters

Sam was silent as they drove to Samuel’s base. Cas had promised to meet them there.

Dean felt sick. He couldn’t believe he’d been so worried about Lisa and Ben when, for the last couple months, he’d been riding with just a shell of his brother.

“You really don’t feel _anything_?” He should shut up, but he couldn’t wrap his head around Sam’s soullessness.

Sam took a deep breath. “No. I said I don’t know _what_ I’m feeling. Because it’s buried too deep inside. The chemicals in my body are working just fine, thank you, but the feelings don’t affect me the way they should. They’re overridden with practicality.” He paused. “The shallow ones are easy. Annoyance, humor, attraction- I’ve been having a lot of sex since I got back. Not sure why I can’t sleep, though.”

Dean shook his head. Sam, choosing practicality over emotions? Yeah, no wonder Dean’s alarms had been going off since day one. And he really didn’t need to know about Sam’s new sex life, thank you very much.

“So, how do you think you’re feeling now? Best guess?”

Sam shrugged. “I want to punch you really hard. Or maybe scream at you. But I know that’s not going to achieve anything. And my memories of before say that I don’t really resort to violence unless there’s no other option.”

Dean frowned. “Why do you want to punch me? For breaking your nose?”

Sam turned in his seat to look at him. Dean glanced away from the road, surprised to find the barest hint of hurt on his face.

“You let an angel stick his hand inside my chest!” He snapped. “And I can understand that part, he needed to check. But you tied me up! You tried to keep me imprisoned! And that… That was… You don’t know how much that hurt!”

“What, you think I enjoyed it?” Dean shot back, upset at the accusation. “You lied to me, Sam, you didn’t tell me there was something wrong. I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t know if I could trust you!”

“I lied because I thought you would leave,” Sam said, voice pitched low. “And I told you: I need you with me.”

“Well, what, do you want me to apologize?” Dean demanded. “For tying you up? Really?”

Sam stared back and Dean suddenly realized there was an aura of wildness in Sam’s bright eyes.

“Grace feels _cold_ , Dean,” he spoke through grit teeth. “ _Cas_ felt cold. And guess what?” He asked. “ _Lucifer burns cold_.”

Dean felt a shot of guilty horror zip through him.

“And he liked to tie me up too.” It may as well have been a whisper.

Dean swallowed. He hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t realized that when Sam said he didn’t feel afraid, it hadn’t been literal. Of course, he felt fear. He just wasn’t affected by it. Because he didn’t understand it. But the memory of the Cage got through to Sam’s psyche.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and it was true. “I didn’t think of that. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“And, uh, that one is called anger,” Dean added softly. He needed to get Sam back. He needed to get his Sam back.


	112. Dancing Lights - All Dogs Go To Heaven

“Sammy?”

Sam paused momentarily, one hand on the ignition key, the other on the steering wheel. It had been… Months. Literal months since Dean had used that nickname.

“Yeah?”

Dean was half-asleep right now, too tired to keep up the defiant refusal of not letting his soulless brother drive his precious car. “You should sleep,” he mumbled.

Sam shook his head, feeling a smile form. “I don’t sleep, remember? Not anymore.”

Dean made a disgusted noise. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like _me_ ,” he corrected. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you really, really _hate_ me.” It was a fact, just a sure statement.

There was a short silence, then Dean’s hand reached up to touch the side of his face. Puzzled, Sam turned to him.

Dean’s eyes were at half-mast, exhaustion lowering his inhibitions. “Your skin is cold,” he murmured.

Sam chuckled. “Souls provide heat, I guess.”

Dean stared at him. Sam stared back. That emotion in those green eyes- was that sadness? He was pretty sure it wasn’t hate. Or anger.

“I don’t hate you,” Dean finally admitted, closing his eyes.

“Really?” Sam challenged.

But Dean had fallen asleep.

Sam sighed, observing how the light from the Gas-Mart outside illuminated Dean’s perfectly chiseled features.

He recalled the times before when he’d watched Dean sleep, back when he’d still had a soul. He used to feel a rush of light dizziness from the sight, heart rate erratic, the urge to stroke over the sharp jaw, admiring the curl of long, girlish lashes.

Sam didn’t feel any of that right now. His heart was beating perfectly steady. His head was clear. He still wanted Dean in a way that wasn’t brotherly, but he didn’t feel like he would die of need if he didn’t get what he wanted.

And if Sam was being honest, the lack of feelings was getting old. He’d meant what he’d said to Dean earlier- that it was much easier not having to feel the pain and the guilt.

But it was also getting boring.

No, he’d made the right decision. He needed to get his soul back.


	113. Too Close - Clap Your Hands If You Believe...

“Oh my god, you’re jealous.”

Dean froze in the act of pulling Sam out of the club. “Excuse me?”

Sam looked smug, victorious. Not as disappointed or disgruntled as he should after being tugged away from a potential hookup. “You usually try to get me laid more often,” he pointed out. “But now that I actually am, you can’t handle it. I mean, first Patchouli, then the waitress, and now...”

Dean scowled. “Don’t be stupid.” He had to talk loudly to be heard over the music being blasted and it made him sound angry, upset. Which he wasn’t.

“So, what is it, Dean, did it hurt your fragile ego that women are paying more attention to me all of a sudden?”

It was a joke, just teasing, but Dean felt himself bristle, already claustrophobic from the push and press of the people around them. He’d forgotten they were smack in the middle of the dance floor. “No, you idiot, that’s not a problem.”

“So, what then? Jealous that _I’m_ paying more attention to _them_ than to _you_?”

Dean made to turn away and just walk out. But Sam caught his wrists, twisting him back so they were forced to face each other. Damn it, Dean had never hated Sam’s height more then now when he had to tilt his head up too meet his eyes in a glare.

Except Sam’s face was way too close and Dean could smell his stupid girly shampoo and there were long fingers fluttering up his from his wrists to his biceps and the way Sam was looking at him, bright eyes focused on him like lasers…

For a second, Dean could almost imagine that this was his Sam, Sammy, with his soul intact and untouched.

But Sam’s heart was too steady under his palm _(when had he placed his hand on Sam’s chest?)_ And his fingers were too cold were they were gently wrapped around Dean’s forearms.

Dean shook his head, looking away, breaking the spell that had settled over him. “Let me go, Sam,” he requested, calmly as he could, because if he was going to do this, if they were going to do this, it would be with Sam as was really supposed to be. Not this puppet that only looked like him.

Sam sighed, almost sounding disappointed, and stepped away, releasing his hold on Dean.

“Come on,” Dean said. “Let’s get back to the motel.”

He didn’t look back to see if Sam was following him.


	114. Love Me Like You Do - Caged Heat

Cas sighed, feeling the urge to massage his temples. Humans were so stubborn. Or maybe that was a Winchester trait.

“Dean, you aren’t listening to me,” he repeated. “Sam’s soul will be broken. Damaged. Torn apart in ways that you can’t even imagine. Do you really want to put Sam through that?”

“Cas, it’s a risk we have to take,” Dean insisted. “I mean, look at the guy. He's basically Lucifer without the power-lust. He needs his soul.”

“Does he really?”

Dean stopped in his tracks, turning incredulous eyes towards him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Sam is alive right now,” Cas said firmly. “He is alive and he is here with you. He’s a better hunter than he has ever been. He no longer feels fear or hurt or guilt. He’s… Not happy, but content. Why would you risk that for something that has next to zero chances of working?”

Dean spluttered for a reply.

“If it’s just his lack of moral standing that worries you… He has you to keep him on the straight and narrow. Because even soulless, all of Sam’s instincts are honed to trust you.”

Dean swallowed, nervous. His eyes darted away and there was something guilty in his features.

“Admit it, Dean,” Cas continued, tone softer now. “ _You_ need his soul back. _You_ need Sam to care, to _feel_. You need him to _love_ you as much he always did, as much as you love him.”

Dean didn’t reply. But his refusal to meet Cas' eyes said it all.

Cas sighed. “I would think about your course of action very carefully, Dean,” he advised, before flying away.


	115. Rememberance - Appointment In Samarra

Sam could feel something different. Something changing.

There was heat spreading all over him, banishing the cold.

_Lucif_ … He was angry. _Mich_ … The other one was upset as well.

They didn’t like the warmth. Sam didn’t want them to get angry. What if they hurt Adam?

He tried to speak, tried to do something.

But the low flame that had sparked to life in his chest now burned through his nerves, his bones and muscles, and he could feel something else, something solid.

The soft scratch of cotton against all his skin. Cool metal against his wrists.

The glowing eyes faded away, one pair red and the other blue, replaced by a bright white light.

He couldn’t smell blood anymore, but whiskey and cologne.

He couldn’t hear any more screams, but there was a soft voice calling his name.

It sounded familiar. It sounded sad, pained, hopeful.

Sam tried to reply, but there was something stopping him.

A distant voice sounded in his head. _Don’t scratch the wall._

And suddenly, Sam couldn’t remember what the Cage looked like, or the exact shade of red of the Devil’s eyes, or the intensity of the glow of Grace. It all just disappeared. 

Instead he remembered the person calling his name.

_Dean_ , he tried to say.

Then everything sank into oblivion.


	116. Slow And Steady - Like A Virgin

Deam couldn’t stop watching him. Sam was lying on the couch, curled up on his stomach to fit his long length, one hand tucked under his cushion. He wasn’t asleep yet and was probably aware of Dean's eyes on him, but didn't call him out.

Until he did. “Dean, go to sleep,” he whispered, careful not to be so loud as to wake Bobby. 

Dean felt his rapid heartbeat settle at the sound of genuine concern in Sam’s voice. “You first,” he whispered back from his mattress on the floor.

Sam shifted, resting on his elbow as he peered down at Dean. “You want to take the couch tonight?” He asked.

They usually tossed a coin for it _(since Rock-Paper-Scissors was obviously rigged)_. But Sam was asking and Dean loved that because it was _him_.

“Nah, I’m fine, Sammy,” he said softly. “Just… Been a while since you’ve slept.” He didn’t say how empty the motel rooms would feel without Sam’s steady breathing in the nearby bed, or how nervous Dean would get every night, knowing that that shell of Sam would be watching him. Usually, their constant awareness of each was comforting, a certainty that they had each other’s back. But the soulless version of Sam? Every time Dean had caught him staring at him, it had made his skin crawl.

Sam was musing. “Other-me didn’t sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

Sam sighed. He stretched his arm out, beckoning. Dean scooted closer to the couch, reaching up to grasp Sam’s hand. The skin was warm, a little hotter than normal human temperature. Exactly like Sam was supposed to be.

“Guessing he filled that time with exercise,” he mumbled sleepily. “I’m in, like, the best shape I’ve ever been, physically.”

Dean chuckled. “You kidding me? You’re like Narcissus or Adonis at the moment.”

There was a short silence. Dean wondered if he’d sounded too close to admiring than he should.

Then Sam laughed lightly. “I knew you knew Greek lore just fine.”

“Hey!” Dean grumbled.

Sam squeezed his fingers, before withdrawing. “Go to sleep, dude,” he said. “We got work to do.”

Dean let his breath even out, listening to the steady rhythm of Sam’s breathing.


	117. Mistakes - Unforgiven

Dean moved past him as he spoke. Sam rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed, and grabbed his wrist to make him stop pacing and stand still.

It was like with that woman at the bar.

The second Sam’s fingers wrapped around Dean’s hand, it was like something cracked in Sam’s mind and a dream-like memory flashed through his mind.

_Loud music._

_People dancing, the crowd pulsing all around._

_Dean’s eyes wide and shocked under strobe lights._

_The warmth of his chest against Sam’s._

_His wrist trapped in Sam’s hold._

_Lips close, too close._

_Dean stepping back, walking away._

Sam made a valiant effort not to gasp. Dean slipped out of his grasp with an annoyed glance. He continued to pace and talk.

Sam felt loathing rise for his soulless self. He’d come way too close to forcing himself on Dean. And Dean… Dean had put a stop to it that one time, but if soulless him had made more of an effort, Dean might not have stopped him.

And that terrified him. What else had he done to hurt Dean? How could he even find out without risking losing his mind?


	118. All We Have - Mannequin 3: The Reckoning

“So, how’d it go with Ben and Lisa?”

It was an attempt at distraction for both of them, from the crap-fest of a case they’d just left behind.

Dean supposed he should be grateful. “Not that great,” he answered honestly. “Lisa never wants to see me again. Ben thinks I don’t care about him.”

Sam looked taken aback. “Why? I mean, I can understand Lisa, but, Ben?”

Dean sighed. “Lisa’s already trying to move on, but Ben…” He trailed off, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Sam had a look of realization. “He wants you to stay with them.”

Dean nodded, absently. “He nearly begged me to. Told me I was abandoning my family.”

Sam seemed to hesitate. “You know, what Lisa suggested before, about hunting and checking in with her to see her… It could work, you know.”

Dean shot him a look. He started to speak, but Sam didn’t let him.

“I mean, I know it didn’t work last time because of the whole vampire thing, but that was my fault in the first place,” he said. “So, you know, maybe _I_ could talk to Lisa, ask her to give you another chance…”

“You didn’t tell me you remembered that!” Dean interrupted, fear making his voice sharp.

Sam winced. “I… Didn’t want you to worry.”

“ _You didn’t_ … Oh, great idea, Sam, yeah, that’s working out perfectly,” Dean muttered, sarcasm sharp as a knife.

Sam sighed. “I was looking through Dad’s journal, I saw I’d added some stuff about a vampire cure. That triggered it, I guess.”

“What if you’d had another Hell trip, huh?”

“Dean, look, I appreciate the worry, I do, but I’m _fine_ ,” Sam said. “Anyway, we were talking about Lisa. Look, if I could explain it to her-”

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “It’s not gonna work, okay? Every time I leave on a hunt, she’ll be worried sick, she said it herself. I might not even come back in one piece all the time. And Ben… Ben thinks I’m some kind of hero. He’s romanticized this job and if I stick around, keeping one foot on either side of the fence… He’ll turn out to be just like one of us.”

Sam was quiet for a minute. “Then go back to her for good.”

Dean froze for a second. “Excuse me?” He asked in a growl.

Sam turned to face him. “You had a good life with them, Dean. I came and got you, I ruined that. But you can still go back. You’ve always wanted it,” he reminded. “You wanted a family. And you can still have it.”

“I want _you_ , Sam,” Dean said loudly.

For a second, both of them froze, the words sounding too close to a deeper meaning.

Then Sam laughed lightly. “And you’ll have me,” he assured. “It’s not like I’ll never come visit.”

Sam’s words made sense.

Dean thought about it. Waking up with Lisa every morning. Being a parent to Ben. Maybe having another kid. A regular job.

And Sam… Sam wouldn’t give up hunting. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. Sam would think it his job to pick up Dean’s slack. So he’d keep going. He’d hunt and maybe he’d drop by to see Dean once a month. They’d try to talk on the phone, but they had never been fans of that.

Dean really did try to think about it, but all he got was an empty feeling in his stomach at the prospect of not being next to Sam every freaking second of the day.

“No, Sam,” he said, with a quiet confidence. “I’m good with this. I’m good with _us_.”

Sam turned away without a word, but Dean glanced over and he could see the relief on his face. 

Yeah. This was all he really needed. 


	119. A Photo Worth A Thousand Words - The French Mistake

Genevieve’s hand was small and warm in his own. Sam sipped his beer nervously as she tugged him up the stairs and into a bedroom.

“Hey, uh, Genev- Gen…” He laughed nervously. “Listen, I, uh, I’m not really in the mood tonight.” No way was he sleeping with another man's wife. Soulless him had done enough of that. 

Genevieve raised a perfect eyebrow, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s gotta be difficult with Jensen here. I’m honestly surprised you guys are talking after whatever happened.”

Sam tilted his head at her. “What do you mean? What happened?”

She blinked. “I don’t know, honey, you never told me. All I know is that you guys used to be stuck to each other all the time. And then, a couple months after our wedding, something big happened. You two haven’t really talked outside of work since then.”

Sam frowned. “Well, we’re better now,” he mumbled, hoping he wasn’t messing up the real Jared and Jensen’s relationship, or whatever was left of it. “Hey, why don’t you, uh, go to sleep? I’ll just go back downstairs, go over the lines some more.”

Genevieve considered him with concern. But she nodded. “Don’t stay up too late, okay, babe? You work yourself to death already.”

Jared let her kiss him goodnight, noting how sweet it was in comparison to Ruby. Then he got out of the bedroom as calmly as he could.

The house was huge, he thought, as he wandered idly down the stairs. Though that would make sense, considering Jared was a hotshot actor.

The hallway back to the living room where Dean had crashed was lined with photo frames. He’d been looking at them when he’d spotted Genevieve.

There was one of an elderly couple, obviously the seniors of the Padalecki clan. There was one of Jared, with two more men and a woman. Probably siblings or friends. There were a couple of the husband and wife. One large frame showed a huge ensemble of people, with Jared and Jensen in the middle and a few Sam recognized from the set.

Then he stopped in front of the last one.

It was Jared and Jensen, just the two of them. They were leaning into each other, unaware of the photographer. Jared had a hat on, with a goofy expression, while Jensen was slinging an arm around his shoulders. Both were laughing. Both were looking at each other.

Sam was hit with a sudden sense of longing. He may not know Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles, but he knew himself. And he knew Dean.

So he could tell, easily, that these two men in the photo were really, genuinely happy. Happy in a way he and Dean hadn’t completely been in a long time.

Sam stared at the photo for a long time, wondering how two people who looked so at home with each other could just… Fall out.

_It’s not us_ , he told himself. _It’s not us_.


	120. Doomed - ... And Then There Were None

Samuel knew, without doubt, what Sam Winchester was capable of. He’d watched him put a fatally wounded eleven-year old out of his misery with barely a blink, shoot a woman being held as hostage by a vamp, beat a police officer to death, use a civilian as bait. Of course, it had all made sense when they found out that Sam had lost his soul.

Even so, as soon as Dean had entered the equation, Samuel could see the instant change in Sam; he’d become mellower, more relaxed, less inclined to cold-blooded ruthlessness.

And now? Remade with his soul back where it belonged? Everything about him seemed different. His eyes were softer, less prone to blankness. He slouched ever so slightly. Bobby Singer’s order to “ _Take Dean for a walk,_ ” was obeyed with an ease that suggested he was used to the task of corralling his brother.

Despite all the changes, when Sam looked him dead in the eye and said, “ _We find him alive… Or I’ll put a bullet in your head_ ,” Samuel had no problem believing it to be the promise it was.


	121. Find Your Way - My Heart Will Go On

When Zachariah had altered Sam and Dean’s minds, putting them in different lives with no recollection of each other, the brothers had still somehow found their way to each other, had succumbed to the pull between them.

When Dean had visited the alternate future of the Apocalypse, his future self had been a cold broken echo of his true self, because he’d lost Sam.

And now, in this tampered reality, where so many big and little things were different, Sam and Dean's shared love remained the same.

It was oddly reassuring, Castiel thought, looking between two of his few friends, that in every life, in every universe, in every reality, the Winchesters would always have each other. 


	122. Hold On - Frontierland

As Sam traipsed up the stairs, Dean watched him go. The white shirt he’d picked out for him stuck to his skin with sweat and Dean could easily pick out the muscles shifting in Sam’s back as he stretched his arms above his head. He looked… Well, he looked fine. Better than fine.

But Dean couldn’t help the worry.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Bobby asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Dean sighed. “Nothing. Just… How did he remember where Samuel hid his lore collection? He’s not supposed to be scratching.”

Bobby stayed quiet in thought, one hand pressed above his chest, where Castiel had touched his soul. “Cas warned us, Dean. So did Death. This thing, the wall, inside Sam’s head, it ain’t permanent. Sooner or later, it’s all gonna come falling down.”

Dean sat on the chair, beside him, burying his face in a hand. He was glad Cas had gone back to heaven. The angel wasn’t the type to say ‘ _I told you so'_ , but he was very expressive at times.

“What am I gonna do, Bobby?” He asked, voice muffled in his palm. “How do I keep him safe from his own head?”

“Well, honestly speaking, Dean, you can’t.”

Dean looked up at him with a glare. “Well, what then, I just let him lose his goddamn mind?” He snapped furiously.

Sam chose that moment to walk back down. “So, we should probably start filling that ash into shotgun shells.” He stopped, finding both Bobby and Dean looking at him. “What?” He asked, frowning. “Dean?”

Dean swallowed back the irrational panic. He walked to Sam, placed a hand on his shoulder, with the intention to just pat it and be on his way. But his hand stayed there, slid down to rest over his heart, letting the warmth seep in.

“’Nothin, Sammy,” he said quietly. “It’s nothing.”


	123. A Light Shines Bright - Mommy Dearest

The two kids in the back were out like lights. They were leaning into each other, protective and comforting.

It was an oddly familiar sight, bringing up memories of long drives spent curled around each other, Dean’s arm a warm and familiar weight around Sam’s bony shoulders.

Right now, Sam watched them in the rearview mirror. Despite everything, he couldn’t help the smile forming on his face.

He snuck a quick glance at Dean, only to meet his eyes.

Dean’s lips quirked up as well, a small bright grin amidst the darkness of the Jefferson Starships and Eve and her other wacky creations.


	124. Contingencies - The Man Who Would Be King

Cas disappeared. He couldn’t face Dean, he just couldn’t. No more than he could face Sam or Bobby. Their eyes burned with betrayal. Hurt. Anger.

Crowley wasn’t going to stop. He would continue to try and hunt them. Cas would gladly kill him to protect his friends, but then he would have no weapon against Raphael.

For a second, he thought about distraction. Take either one of the boys, stash them somewhere safe, keep them unconscious. The remaining brother would immediately drop the search for Cas and look for the other.

He flew back to Bobby’s cabin, keeping himself invisible. He watched, a silent observer, as Dean tossed and turned on the couch, repeatedly opening his eyes to check on Sam, sleeping on the floor peacefully.

It would be easy, so easy to just grab Dean and take him away. But Sam would be left at risk with a flimsy wall. Separating the brothers might bring that wall down for good, caused by panic and worry and desperation.

And Cas couldn’t do that. He couldn’t hurt Sam like that. For one, Dean would never forgive him. For another, he doubted Dean’s ability to survive without Sam once again.

No, Cas wouldn’t harm Sam. Not unless he truly has no other option left.


	125. Just Hold On - Let It Bleed

Sam tried. He really did try to ignore the tears streaming down Dean’s face.

But then Dean sniffled, obviously stifling a sob, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore. “Dean, pull over.”

No answer.

“Dean, now.”

“Shut-”

“Dean, stop the damn car.” The drop in his voice, the low growl, a near perfect imitation of their Dad, did it’s job perfectly.

Dean responded to the command on instinct, swerving the car to the side of the road. As other vehicles passed them by, the two of them got out of the car. Dean stood stiff and angry, looking out to the outskirts of South Dakota. Sam stood a few steps behind him.

“They loved you.”

Dean tensed, turning instantly with his hand curled into a fist. But he was projecting too much in this state and Sam caught his arm easily, forcing him to listen.

“They loved you,” he said again, enunciating each word. “Hold on to that. Even if you never see them again, or even think about them, don’t forget that. Don’t forget that they loved you.”

Dean blinked fast, wiping his tears with his free hand. Sam looked down at the one he was holding. “And if it really will make you feel better to break my nose, go ahead.”

He waited. But Deam shook his head in a quick rapid motion and squeezed Sam’s fingers instead.

“Okay,” Sam said softly. “Then let’s go hunt down Cas and Crowley instead. Alright? We find them and we make them pay for this.” He tried to keep his voice even, but anger seeped in anyway. Not so much at Crowley- what could you expect from a demon?- but at Cas, who was supposed to be their friend, who was partly responsible for Dean's grief. Dean, who had stuck up for the angel when Sam and Bobby had doubted him first. Sam could honestly throttle him just for putting that look of utter betrayal on Dean's features. 

Dean nodded, a hint of fire returning to his eyes. He breathed in slowly, exhaled loudly, his body relaxing with the simple motion.

Sam looked back at their joint hands. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured. “You'll always have me.”


	126. Sorry, Heart - The Man Who Knew Too Much

Dean stared down at Sam’s still form. The sudden seizure from before had only lasted around half a minute, but it had scared him, reminded him too much of watching Sam flung around the room by his own blood. 

God, he’d been through too much already.

One week, he had said. That’s what that flashback after the spider-monkey case had felt like to Sam. One week to the two minutes Dean had spent hovering over his body. Time in the Cage evidently ran different to the rest of Hell.

Dean had done the math.

Sam had been trapped for a little over 5000 years.

And now he was reliving it. His mind was broken and traumatized. Even if Sam could recover from this, would he want to?

_Please, he doesn't deserve this, God, please, help him_. He didn't pray a lot. When he did, it was always for Sam. 

Bobby was upstairs, packing. They needed to get to Cas.

But Dean couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“Sam,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Sam, please, come on, man. Don’t leave me.” He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, stroking along the line of Sam’s jaw, thumb sweeping over his high cheekbones, brushing the hair out his face. Slowly, hesitantly, he bent his head, brushing his lips over Sam’s, gentle and chaste. “Sammy, please.” He wasn’t above begging, mumbling the words over Sam’s bitten, chapped mouth. “Come back to me.”

Bobby’s footsteps echoed.

Dean jerked back, guilty and terrified, of judgement, of condemnation, of rejection. 

Bobby paused, eyeing him carefully, maybe noticing the glimmer of tears or the way his hands had lingered on Sam.

“Let’s go.”

Dean nodded. Pulling himself together, he looked down at Sam, looking so peaceful that he could almost be asleep. “This is where we’re gonna be, okay?” He said, holding up the piece of paper with the address. “So get your lazy ass out of bed and come meet us.” The joke fell flat. Dean felt his chin tremble. “Sammy, please,” he said.

But there was no answer and Dean stood up, leaving the note and Sam’s Taurus next to him, before following after Bobby.

It was a wonder he could feel his heart beating. He may as well have just torn it out of his own chest and left it in the panic room. 


	127. Beautiful Minds - Meet The New Boss

Lucifer’s face changed as he talked and suddenly it was Dean, pinning him to the wall, hand wrapped around his throat like a vice. Despite that, something in Sam relaxed on instinct, a built-in reaction to his brother’s presence.

Dean clicked his tongue in condemnation. “Now, now, Sammy, make it at least a little bit of a challenge for me, come on.” He grinned, wide and cruel, leaning in closer to nose at Sam’s jaw. “Or are you just that easy for me?”

Sam struggled, tried to back away, but there was concrete at his back, leaving him with nowhere to go.

Dean- no, Lucifer. Lucifer's hand gripped his chin, keeping him still and Sam heard himself scream as skin boiled at the contact.

“See you again soon, bitch,” Lucifer cackled, taunting him with Dean's green eyes.

Then he was gone.

“Sammy!”

This was Dean. It had to be.

“Come on, man, we gotta get out of here,” Dean was saying.

Sam nodded and followed. _This is real_ , he tried to tell himself.


	128. Cries For Help - Hello, Cruel World

“Sam, can I talk to you outside for a second?”

Sam got up and Dean led him out to the car. “Listen, man, are you sure you're okay with me going?”

Sam laughed lightly and Dean felt his heart clench at how much effort it seemed to take.

“Dean, I'll be fine,” he insisted. “You're only twelve hours away- ten, because of your insane driving- and Bobby's gonna be with me anyway.”

Dean took a deep breath, turning away slightly. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Just don't like the idea of leaving...” He trailed off.

Sam didn't seem to have caught his hesitation. “Dean, listen-”

“Look, just don’t lie to me,” Dean interrupted. “Okay? Please. I mean, whatever happens- I don’t care how small or stupid you think it is- just tell me. Because I can’t help you if you don’t let me and…” He stopped, swallowed.

Sam frowned. “And what?”

Dean stared at Sam, trying not to remember the last couple of times he’d seen Sam unconscious, unsure if he would ever even wake up. “I just need you to be okay,” he said through grit teeth.

Sam, looking bright and healthy and beautiful under the sun, seemed to soften even more at Dean’s words, smiling softly and full of something Dean didn’t want to name. “Okay,” he said, quietly. “I promise. We’ll be okay.”

_We_.

Dean nodded, throat tight, and got into the car. He wished he could stop the sinking feeling in his stomach as he drove.


	129. Nostalgia - The Girl Next Door

“Your first kiss was a kitsune?” Dean asked, mouth open in shock.

Sam paused in his story and sighed- he should have known it’d come back to that. “Yeah.”

Dean stared at him. For a second, Sam could have sworn his brother’s gaze dropped down… To his mouth. Why was Dean staring at his mouth? _No, nope, not possible_ , Sam told himself firmly.

“Are you seriously telling me that your unnatural attraction to supernatural freaks started at _16_?”

Sam closed his eyes in frustation, the tense moment gone. “ _I’m_ a supernatural freak,” he reminded frostily. “ _You’re_ not exactly too far behind.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Well, isn’t that why we work so well together, Sammy?” He teased, but there was something dark in his eyes.

Sam paused. “Uh, I thought that was because we’re brothers.”

Dean just hummed. “So, let me get this straight,” he started. “You and a monster- sorry, _kitsune_ ,” he amended at Sam’s pointed glance. “You saved her from bullies, she played nurse, you bonded over wanting apple-pie lives and then you lied to me and Dad to save her. Really, Sam?” He raised an eyebrow. “You lied to your family for a _girl_?”

Sam shook his head. “She saved my life, Dean,” he muttered and continued to tell the tale.


	130. By Your Grace - Defending Your Life

Jo disappeared. Dean could still feel her lingering touch on his cheeks and it only made his guilt sit heavier in his chest. He dropped to his knees, still surrounded by scattered salt. And it wasn’t even just because of Jo. It never had been.

The door burst open. Dean looked up just in time to see Sam’s worry-stricken face before being engulfed in a strong pair of arms and chest.

“You’re okay,” Sam said, voice wrecked with relief. “You’re okay, Dean. You’re okay.”

For the first time, Dean felt the urge to push Sam away, to escape the embrace and just run. Sam’s trust in him, the blind faith, the belief- it was suffocating him, making him claustrophobic.

But he’d never known how to do that, how to create distance between him and Sam. So he let Sam hold him and found himself clutching back.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself saying. “I’m sorry, Sam, I’m…”

“Dean, what, what are you sorry for?” Sam pulled back, gaze soft and concerned.

Dean swallowed. Amy Pond's name felt like poison on the tip of his tongue, but in his mind’s eye, he could see Sam in that courtroom, straight-backed, proud, confident in Dean’s innocence. And he couldn’t say it.

Sam patted his cheek lightly. “Come on, buddy,” he murmured, helping him to his feet. “Let’s put this town in the rearview.”


	131. Not Even Death - Shut Up, Dr Phil

“Hey, when you told Don and Maggie that they were _bonded_ ,” Dean said, before trailing off.

Sam turned to him as they drove. “What?”

He shrugged. “You think maybe they were soulmates?”

Sam was taken back, his mind drifting back to a Roadhouse in heaven, two dead friends, an angel on their asses. “Yeah, maybe, who knows?” he vaguely answered. “Why do you ask?”

Den shrugged, uncomfortable. “Nothing, just… 800 years, you know. That’s kinda impressive. Long time to spend with one person.”

Sam hummed, noncommittal. He had an inkling of where Dean was going with this. But he wanted Dean to be the one to say it.

“You ever, uh…” He waved a hand around, gesticulating vaguely. “You ever think about what Ash told us? That we’re… Soulmates?” The word sounded awkwardly from him. 

Sam sighed. Their trip to Heaven, almost three years ago, was bittersweet to him. There had been the gratifying revelation that even after death, he and his brother would be together in Heaven. And then there had been Dean’s sharp hurt, his utter rejection of Sam in the simple action of throwing an amulet away. An amulet that hadn’t been removed from Dean’s chest for 18 years. An amulet that Sam now had hidden in a false corner of the Impala's trunk.

“Sammy?”

Sam started. “Yeah, I remember, Dean. What about it?”

Dean hesitated. “You ever think we could last that long with each other!” He asked. “800 years?”

Sam leaned against the window, hiding a soft smile. “Sure we can,” he reassured. "Maybe even longer."

Dean was obviously trying to stifle his own grin. Sam felt a flash of pride; he did that. It felt good. Better than it should.


	132. An Affair Of Adjacents - Slash Fiction

“You know what else drives me nuts?” Dean asked. Well, okay, Dean wasn’t really his name, nor was his companion’s name Sam. But it was what they were at the moment. Dean- and Sam-adjacent. 

“Hmm?”

“His obsession with this car,” Dean told him seriously. “It is _out of control_ , man, I am telling you. He loves this car more than he loves burgers or sex.”

“Is it that good?” Sam asked, reluctantly curious. They were relaxed in the front seat, parked in some outskirt areas, surrounded by the trees.

Dean scoffed. “Anything is better than the burger. Sex? Not sure, haven’t really tried it yet.”

“Seriously?”

Dean turned to look at him incredulously. “What, you have? Where did you even get the time?”

Sam laughed. “I mean, have you seen this body? For a human, it’s pretty good. Of course, I took it for a test drive soon as I could.”

Dean’s head was filled with flashes of memory from the real Dean’s head. “Oh _wow_ ,” he groaned. “You’re not gonna believe this. This dude has got the hots for his own brother.”

Sam made a sound, somewhere between amusement and derision. “Oh man, I thought it was just this guy,” he said. “And you know the worst part? He’s so oblivious. He doesn’t even realize it completely.”

“Yeah, well, Dean here gave his brother a little kiss a while back apparently,” Dean said dryly. “When he was unconscious from that drywall in his head breaking. _And_ he’s been beating himself up over it since then. Doesn’t even think about it.”

“Talk about masochism, huh?”

Dean hummed, then eyed his partner speculatively, simultaneously flipping through the foreign memories inside his head. “Wanna try it? You can walk me through the process.”

Sam blinked at him, then gave him a lazy smirk. “Thought you’d never ask.”


	133. Perfectly Entwined - The Mentalists

“Hey, so, uh…” Dean made a vague gesture. “How’s the melon? Satan still hitching a ride?”

Sam sighed, looking up from his laptop. “He’s sitting on my bed,” he answered loftily. “Eating nachos.”

Dean blinked. Despite himself, he couldn’t help sneaking a glance towards Sam’s bed. It was empty, of course. “Well, do the hand thing, then.”

Sam shook his head. “If I use it too often, he gets happy that I’m at least paying him enough attention to do something about him. If he gets happy, he gets more real. So, no, I’ll get rid of him a couple hours later.”

“So, you’re just gonna ignore the Devil until then?” Dean asked, flabbergasted at Sam’s utter flippancy.

Sam shrugged. “Don’t have a choice. Hand me that binder.”

Taken aback by the change in conversation, Dean slid the binder to him quickly. As Sam took it from him, their hands brushed. They lingered.

Dean acted on instinct, snagging Sam’s fingers. There was still tension between them, despite the tentative apology before leaving Lily Dale. And now, he had Sam’s fingers trapped, entwined with his own. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. 

Sam stared at him, confused. “Uh, Dean?”

Dean bit his lip, nervously. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m… I’m really sorry I lied.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I… It’s okay.”

They stayed like that for a minute, their fingers tangled together.

Then Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, Lucifer’s gone, by the way.”

Dean cocked his head curiously. “Just like that?”

Sam blushed. “Yeah, he doesn’t like it when we talk. Like, seriously talk. Or, uh, you know.” He laughed nervously.

Dean felt himself flush. But he smirked anyway. “Aww, Sammy? You want me to hold your hand more often?”

Something flashed through Sam’s eyes, pleased and shy. Then it was gone, replaced by wistful sadness. “Yeah, yeah. You wish.” The moment was gone and with it, Sam’s hand.


	134. Ownership - Season 7 Time For A Wedding

One would think that Becky, of all people, would know better than to try and take Sam away from Dean. And it was true: she should have known better.

Right now, Sam was lying next to her in bed. They hadn’t consummated their marriage yet, but Sam’s arm was a welcome weight around her waist and his heart was a soothing beat under her ear.

He was asleep, his dreams peaceful and calm, thanks to the love potion messing with his head. There was a faint smile curving his lips and Becky found herself tracing the shape of them with her finger, her pulse speeding up with the question of how soft they’d feel if she were to meet them with her own. 

But Sam stirred under her touch. “Dean?” He called out sleepily, eyes still closed.

Becky couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath. Sam’s eyes flew open, but with this instincts dulled by aphrodisiac, he simply frowned in adorable confusion at her.

“Hey,” he mumbled, voice thick and honey-sweet, putting all sorts of ideas in her head. “Sorry. Was dreaming. Thought I was with Dean.”

“It’s okay,” Becky assured. It was safer to keep Dean out of their conversations- she couldn’t help but be afraid that talking about him might negate the effect of the potion. “Go back to sleep.”

Sam hummed in agreement, hazel eyes slipping close. Becky watched his breath even out. She recalled the look of shock on Dean’s face at the church, mingled with genuine hurt as she and Sam had kissed each as husband and wife. She remembered the utter hatred he’d glared at her with before turning away and storming out.

She wondered how long she had before he turned up again to take back what was rightfully his.


	135. Long Live - How To Win Friends And Influence Monsters

Bobby had seen his boys go through Hell. Literally. He’d watched Dean kneel in the mud for several long minutes, rocking back and forth, crying silently, with Sam’s body clutched to his chest. He’d watched Sam carry Dean’s body without missing a single step, tears streaming down an otherwise stoic face, digging a grave and refusing any suggestions of a pyre.

The boys were only half of themselves without each other.

When they were younger- little Sam reaching for a proud-to-big-brother Dean with eager hands- he’d worried about them. Worried about what this life would do to them.

As they’d grown older, that worry had only grown.

And now?

_“You're worried about him, all he does is worry about you. Who’s left to live their own life?”_

If they’d been codependent before, they were practically just one soul now.

And try as Bobby might, he couldn’t help but be grateful for that intense bond. It was the only sure good thing they had. And he loved them too much to begrudge them that, no matter what the rest of the world might think. 

So when the bullet hit him, the last clear thought he had was: _At least they have each other._


	136. Game Of Shadows - Death's Door

Even before Lucifer showed up again, Sam knew that the sound of the heart monitor flat lining would haunt his dreams for a long time.

“Ah, Sam, Sam, Sammy,” Lucifer sang, leaning against the wall next to them. “Whatever are you going to do now?”

They were ushered out, nurses and doctors rushing towards Bobby’s bed with medicine and equipment.

Sam already knew it was hopeless.

“Hey, you know the best part?” Lucifer piped up, sounding like his usual cheerful self. “It's that you don’t want this to be real. You want this to be make-believe. But if it’s not real, then you know what that means?” He cackled. “That you’re still in the cage. And you don’t know right now which you would prefer. I mean, talk about a catch-22, am I right?”

Dean swayed on the spot next to him, looking like he was about to faint. Sam gripped his waist on instinct, because real or not, he wasn’t about to let Dean fall. Dean didn’t fight the hold. He leaned into it, turning slightly, so his forehead rested on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam knew what it was costing Dean to allow himself this comfort, that half the reason for it was Sam’s peace of mind. But as the doctor finally called out the time of death, he turned into the hug too, leaning his tear-stained cheek on Dean’s hair as he watched Bobby’s still body be taken away. 

And just in case, he dug his nail into his hand behind Dean’s back.

Lucifer disappeared with a coy wink. But the nightmare didn’t.


	137. Though Your Heart Is Aching - Adventures In Babysitting

It was easy, in a way, just faking a smile, like Frank told him to. It was easy.

But Bobby’s last smile was an image fixed in his mind and that made it seem wrong. Like, how dare he smile when the man who’d been more of a father to them than their Dad, the man who’d loved them like they were his own flesh and blood, was dead? Dead because Sam and Dean hadn’t been fast enough.

For all of Sam’s assurance from months ago that he had moved past his guilt, Dean knew his little brother was actually blaming himself just as much. He put on a good show; consoling Dean, taking cases, wanting to inform the hunter community of the loss. But Dean didn’t – couldn’t- miss the shadows in his eyes every time their gazes met.

Right now, Dean was thankful that Sam had fallen asleep. He didn’t know if he could take any more of that act.

Which made Dean a complete hypocrite because what was he doing now if not acting?

But the alternative was thinking and Dean had too many crappy options to think about _(Bobby’s fond glance, the scar on Sam’s hand, the world ending, Cas' betrayal, the memory of Sam’s- no, don’t think about it)_.

So, no. Dean was better off smiling. Maybe if he tried hard enough, Sam would believe it. And if Sam believed it, then maybe he could convince Dean to believe it too. He’d always been good at that.


	138. Contentment - Time After Time After Time

“Alright, go.”

Dean looked up from the laptop as Sam plopped down on the chair next to him. “What?”

Sam rolled his eyes and reached over to close the anime porn site. When he did, he found a site on Dick Roman. He arched an eyebrow. Dean’s only reaction was a clenched jaw and a dead-eye stare. Sam closed that one too.

“Hacking into local police feeds, what Frank showed you,” he clarified. “You said you would teach me.”

Dean took a long, deliberate sip of his beer, leaning back in the too-small motel chair with a smirk. “I never agreed to that.”

Sam pouted, just a tiny bit, furrowing his brow. “De-an,” he whined. 28 years of being a little brother had to come in handy some time, right?

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright, you bratty bitch,” he muttered, but there was an affectionate grin tugging at his lips as he pulled the laptop closer.

“Thanks," Sam said softly, knocking their knees together under the table. "Jerk."

Dean didn’t answer, but he didn’t shift his legs away either.


	139. Die Another Day - The Slice Girls

They slept in the car, too emotionally tired to keep driving long enough to find a motel.

Or rather, Dean fell asleep, curled up in the front, head resting against the window, the sound and movement of the unfamiliar car as close to a lullaby as possible.

He woke when he felt something heavy on his shoulder, like a hand, but when he did, there was no one touching him and the car was still, parked somewhere amongst trees so dense that he couldn’t even see the sky through the windshield.

Sam was at the steering, but he wasn’t asleep. He was staring straight ahead, not even aware that Dean was watching him.

That was odd . Their spidey-sense for each other was usually perfectly in tune. Then again, Dean had been out of sync lately, so maybe he couldn’t blame Sam for not noticing his wakefulness.

“Sam?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes staying fixed on something only he could see. Then Dean noticed the gun in his hands, resting on his lap.

Dean sat up, reaching forward to tug at Sam’s arm. “Sam, hey. Sammy!” He couldn’t help the sudden panic, rising sharp and sudden. “Sam!”

Sam didn’t startle, but he blinked, gaze sliding over to land on him. “Scary, isn’t it?” He asked, voice low and dark. “The feeling that the only person you have left isn’t even trying to stay alive anymore.”

Dean swallowed. “Sam…”

“You know, this is the most alone we’ve ever been? We’ve always had Dad. And when we didn’t have him, we had Bobby. Then we had Cas. And now…” He laughed, hollow. “Lucifer keeps telling me that once you die, he’ll put an end to this illusion.”

Dean shook his head, grabbing the Taurus and clicking the safety off quickly, before stashing it away. “Sam, that’s not-”

“It’s like some sort of sick game for him, you know,” Sam went on. “I have to keep you alive, otherwise it’s game over and I wake up in the Cage.”

“Sam, come on, that’s not true,” Dean said, in a pleading voice. “I told you, we got you out. You’re-”

“That’s not the point, Dean!” Sam yelled suddenly, emotion finally flickering across his face, even if it was anger. “The point is that I _need_ you! It's not just about what I want anymore, I literally need you! Don’t you get it? You’re the only thing that’s keeping me sane, if you die- I won’t be alive for much longer. I wouldn’t even want to be.”

Dean felt his heart constrict. “Sammy-”

“You’re right, Emma was your daughter,” he said, calm again. “She was yours. Half of you. She had your eyes and lips too. And I hate what I had to do. But I would do it again without a second thought to save you. And I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“So, please, Dean, just live.” Desperation marred Sam’s features, as he begged. “If not for yourself, then for me, please. Please, Dean.”

Dean stared at Sam. He sighed, feeling guilt settle in his chest, as he recalled Bobby’s words. _Find a reason to get back into it. I don’t care if it’s love, spite, or a ten dollar bet._

Dean knew which one he was picking. Which one he’d always pick.

“Okay, Sam,” he said softly. “Okay.”


	140. Little Things - Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie

Sam sat cross-legged at the laundromat, waiting for the first load to finish washing, hopefully getting rid of all the glitter. It was just after midnight and he was the only one there; washing blood-covered clothes tended to raise some eyebrows. Dean had gone to get dinner and to stock up on snacks and first aid stuff and was due back any minute now.

As he waited, listening mindlessly to the music playing from his phone’s tiny speakers and the sound of the washing machine, he dug his nail into the palm of his hand. The wound was healed, but there was an ugly, jagged scar and the sharp pain was enough to work.

Sam sighed, then quickly schooled his face as the door swung open silently and Dean came in.

“Hey,” he greeted, carrying two bags in one hand and the rainbow slinky in the other.

Sam felt himself smile at that. When they were kids, chances to visit arcades were few. Dean would always, without fail, try to win one of those things, but they never stayed long enough to achieve the number of tickets required. On his way out of Plucky’s, after the clowns disappeared, the display behind the counter had caught Sam’s eye, and he’d taken _(stolen, but hey, they deserved it)_ it without thinking. And good thing too. He didn’t remember the last time Dean had been so happy, even if it was mostly at Sam’s expense.

“Hey,” he returned. “Got everything?”

“Yep.” He held up one of the bags, joining Sam on the floor. It was vastly more comfortable than the too narrow benches. “Stuff’s in the trunk. And dinner is… Fried rice for you, noodles for me. _Noodles_ , Sammy.”

“I don't like noodles,” Sam replied primly, accepting his packed meal.

Dean scoffed. “Liar. You're just clumsy with chopsticks.”

“Shut up. Are you going to carry that slinky around everywhere?”

Dean made a shocked gesture, clutching at his chest dramatically. “It's not just any slinky, Sam,” he scolded. “It’s giant, it’s rainbow and it’s from you.”

“Whatever,” Sam grumbled, pretending he wasn’t blushing lightly. “Anyway, what's in the other bag?”

Dean hesitated for a split second, before nudging the bag towards him.

Curious, Sam opened it, only to still and blink in surprise.

“It’s, uh, I saw it in a book store next to the medical store,” Dean said, with a nervous chuckle. “And I remember you talking about it, so…”

Sam had talked about it. Just a week ago. He’d read the first installment of the series in college, rereading it again in the car recently, a copy that Becky had given him _(among a few other memorabilia)_ after he and Dean had helped her with the shifter problem. Dean, in a moment of boredom, had asked about it and Sam had happily obliged, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t had the chance to read the sequel. And Dean had remembered.

Without warning, Sam felt his heart swell. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I… Thanks, Dean.”

It was Dean's turn to blush, his freckles nearly disappearing. “Um, yeah. Sure.”

Sam waited a beat. Then, “You know, noodles isn't healthy for you.”

Dean looked downright indignant. “You. Can't. Use. Chopsticks. You nearly stabbed your tongue once.”

“No, I didn't!”

“Uh, yeah, you did.”

“Oh, screw you, just shut up.”


	141. Mirror, Mirror On The Wall - Repo Man

Dean woke to a lime green mattress in his face and a dark room. An _empty_ room.

For two seconds, he panicked. “Sam?!”

“Yeah, taking a shower,” the answer came from behind the closed bathroom door, just as the sound of running water registered.

Heart rate back to normal, Dean made himself get up. With their names once again on the FBI's Most Wanted list, it was even less safe than before to stay in one place for too long. As he started throwing clothes into his duffel, he didn't notice when the sound of the shower stopped. Until he heard shattering glass.

“Sam!” Dean called, even as he rushed to the bathroom. The door was unlocked, as it always was, and he pushed it open.

Sam was half-dressed, shirt still unbuttoned, hair damp and curling. He was staring into a mirror, cracked and splintered, with fear and loathing written over his face. His hand was curled into a tight fist, blood and glass crumbs smeared across the knuckles. There was a long shard of glass, jagged and sharp, clenched in his other hand, held loosely, like he couldn’t decide what to do with it.

“Sam!” Dean said loudly, trying to snap him out of it- whatever _it_ was. “Sam, hey, look at me!” He reached out, but Sam flinched before he could make contact.

“Dean,” he whispered. “I, I saw… It wasn’t, it… I mean…” He was shaking, looking between Dean and the broken mirror. “I was… He was… He looked…”

“Hey, hey, hey, no, it’s okay,” Dean soothed. He had an inkling of what Sam was talking about, what he’d seen in his reflection, and the thought was bad enough to scare even him. But he couldn’t focus on that right now, not when Sam needed him to pull himself together. He reached out again, ignoring the way Sam flinched again, and grasped his wrist. Slowly pulling the glass shard from his hand, he gave a gentle tug. Sam suddenly slumped, like all the fight had gone out of him, and he followed Dean’s lead, letting himself be led out of the cramped bathroom to sit on one of the beds.

Dean turned away briefly. For a second, he stood still, trying to school his face. He could hear Sam’s heavy breathing, almost sobs, and he hated it. He hated it more than anything- more than monsters, more than Leviathan- because he couldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t know how to.

And if he didn’t figure something out quick…

With a quick shake of his head, Dean set himself to taking care of Sam’s hands.


	142. The Devil In My Brain - Out With The Old

The soft rock station didn’t help like it should have, but Sam kept his eyes closed anyway, resting his head against the window and keeping his breaths even. He didn’t want to worry Dean, though he couldn’t be quite sure how successful he was being.

Also, when he opened his eyes, Lucifer was right there in the back seat and even if Sam didn’t turn around to look at him, he could feel the cold breath on the back of his neck, soft touches to his hair and ear. It was nauseating and sickening and it made Sam want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Sam?”

Sam hummed questioningly without opening his eyes.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Need anything?”

Sam sighed. “Not unless you have a volume control that works on Lucifer.”

“Sorry, no.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Want me to change the station?”

“Nah. Doesn’t really matter.”

“Really? And here I thought you were enjoying my singing.”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but a hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes. The car has stopped, without him noticing, and Dean was peering at him with wide green eyes, unguarded and dark with fear.

"What's going on?"

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. 

Sam frowned, trying to straighten. Dean’s face was too close to his, almost boxing him in.

“Uh, I just told you,” he replied.

Dean stared at him for only a second before closing his eyes briefly. “Sam,” he said softly. “You’ve been talking to yourself for about a minute now.”

Sam stared back. _Oh_. With a difficult swallow, he turned slightly. Lucifer was perched in the backseat, chin propped on his palms, and smiling happily.

“What, Stairway To Heaven not doing it for you?” He asked, a perfect imitation of Dean's voice. “How do you feel about Angel With A Shotgun?”

Sam looked away, back to Dean. “Sorry,” he said. “I must have fallen asleep.”

Dean’s expression implied that he didn’t believe Sam even a bit. And Sam hated himself for that doubt there, that grief, that helplessness.

“I’m okay,” he repeated firmly.

Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded shakily and backed off, starting up the car again.

Sam rested his head against the window. _I’m okay_ , he told himself.


	143. Safe And Sound - Born-Again Identity

“Sam?”

Sam barely stirred, his breathing slow and deep.

Dean didn’t even pretend to be exasperated; a small but bright grin formed on his face as he tried and failed to shake Sam awake.

However, he was absolutely _not_ going to carry his Sasquatch of a brother from the car to the motel room. Nope, Dean was just going to leave him stretched out in the backseat.

He looked down at Sam’s peaceful expression and sighed.

“Sammy?” He tried again. “Come on, buddy, wake up.”

This time, Sam groaned, eyes fluttering behind his eyelids as he turned his head slightly in Dean’s direction.

“Come on, let’s get you to a proper bed,” Dean coaxed, gently guiding him into a sitting position. “I don’t wanna hear your bitching tomorrow morning when you’re stiff all over.”

Sam sighed. It turned into a yawn. But he let himself be manhandled to his feet, one arm slung around Dean’s shoulder, nose tucked into Dean’s neck.

He rolled his eyes fondly, resisting the urge to kiss the top of Sam’s head. Sam had a freakishly good memory even when he was wasted or worked to the bone. He would never let Dean hear the end of it.

Wondering at the miracle that a 6’4” man could seem like such a delicate cargo at times, Dean managed to half-drag, half-carry Sam into the motel, dumping him onto the bed without ceremony.

Sam just rolled over on to his stomach, hand tucked under the pillow, though there was no way in hell Dean was going to leave any weapons in his reach until he was back on his feet.

For a few long moments, Dean stayed there, hovering over Sam with one hand braced on the mattress. There were still shadows under Sam’s eyes, he’d lost too much weight and he looked pale and drawn, his hair matted and tangled, with a light scruff that have him a homeless vagabond look.

And yet, he was still so beauti-

_Don’t_ , he scolded himself. If he didn’t think about it, it wasn’t real. Just like that spontaneous, impulse-driven, stupid-as-hell kiss in the panic room, almost a year ago now. Dean still wasn’t sure why he’d done it. The only excuse he had was that he’d been out of his mind with worry.

Instead, he brushed Sam’s hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ears so it didn’t bother him in his sleep. He pulled his shoes and socks off, tucked him under the covers.

For a split second, Dean pondered the wisdom in sharing the bed just in case, queen-size be damned. But he felt light-headed and dizzy with relief and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to risk the chances of doing something he’d regret. Again.

So, still high on endorphins, Dean turned to get into his own bed.


	144. Drinking Games - Party On, Garth

Look, Garth was not a small man, alright? That didn’t mean it was easy to handle two drunken Winchesters, plus a cursed box and an unconscious man.

“Come on, Dean,” he said gently. “We’ve got to go.”

Dean nodded solemnly. “Right. Ri-ight. But we need the... Curse-y... Thingy. The boxxsss.” He hissed the last word for some reason. 

Garth nodded, holding up the wooden container. “I’ve got it right here. Come on now. See, Sam’s already with me.”

Sam seemed to perk up at the sound of his name. He was a happy drunk.

“Sammy?” Dean peered at Garth. “Shoulda said that before, you… You twig. You’re an over-enthusiastic twig!”

“Okay.” Garth nodded. “Drunk-you is very unimaginative with insults.”

With some effort, he managed to get them towards his car. “Okay, brewery guy is in the trunk. Dean, get in the back. And- oh no, buddy! Give me that flask! You’ll get it back when you’re sober. Anyway, Sam you’re marginally less wasted, so you sit up front with me.”

“No!” Sam protested, looking positively alarmed. He reached for Dean, curling one hand around the back of his neck. “I only ride with Dean. Best driver ever.”

Garth wanted to insist, but Sam was gazing at him with wide eyes, glistening grey in the dim lights, like a lost puppy, and he wondered, _How does Dean ever win an argument with this guy?_

“Okay,” he gave in easily. The puppy eyes were formidable. “You can sit in the back with Dean.”

Dean did an exaggerated fist-bump and Garth really wished he had a camera. They were just so adorable like this.

“We should talk to the resta- rastara- restaurant guy again,” Sam said, words slurring.

“Not until you’re sober,” Garth said patiently.

Sam nodded emphatically. “I’m drunk,” he announced. “We’re drunk. We’re drunk and we need coffee. Now.”

“That’s smart. Sammy, you’re so smart,” Dean gushed. Garth watched them in the rearview mirror. “Garth, isn’t Sammy smart?”

“Very smart,” Garth agreed, grinning like a fool.

Sam blushed, two pink spots glowing on his cheeks like an actual anime character.

Dean growled. “He’s mine, though,” he warned. “My brother. Get your own. You can’t have him.”

“Of course, not,” Garth said cheerfully.


	145. Keep Your Friends Close - Of Grave Importance

“Heard from Meg?” Sam asked softly.

Dean put the phone away after checking the travel time to wherever Annie was. “You tell me. She likes you better.”

“She’s weird around me,” Sam grumbled. “Hell if I know why.”

“No, she hasn’t called,” Dean sighed.

Sam took a sip of his drink, the fizzy carbon dioxide stinging pleasantly in his throat.

Dean was watching him. “Stop worrying. He's fine.”

Sam shot him a skeptical look. “Like you’ve stopped worrying? You think I don’t know how often you debate just driving up to the hospital and checking on him?”

“Of course, I do,” Dean agreed, a little harshly. “But we don’t have the luxury to take a break from hunting.”

Sam grit his teeth. “This is Cas we’re talking about,” he said. “Our friend, Cas.”

“Oh, he’s our friend? Sorry, I didn’t know that.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Sam muttered.

Dean sighed. “Look. We’ve got Leviathan on our ass. And demons. We’re lucky nobody from the God-Squad have decided to show their heavenly mugs yet. Right now, Cas is safe where he is. Do we really wanna lead all those fuglies to a broken angel?”

Sam stayed silent.

“Cas is the only friend we have left,” Dean continued. “I’d really like to not put him in any more danger than we already have.”

Sam kicked at the dirt by his feet. “You know he didn’t deserve that,” he said softly. “Taking on my hallucinations… Nobody should have to go through with that.”

Dean seemed to be weighing his answer. Looking at him, Sam found him worrying his lower lip between his teeth. He looked almost… Angry.

“He saw it as penance,” he finally said.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“For the Leviathan,” Dean clarified. “For breaking your head in the first place.”

Sam looked away. He couldn’t deny it- Castiel's betrayal had stung.

“I know what he did, Dean,” he said. “But what he’s going through right now, those memories… I wouldn’t wish them on anyone, not even Crowley, or… Or anyone really.”

Dean shook his head. “Look, stop feeling guilty, alright?” He snapped. “This was Cas' choice. I didn’t even know it was a possibility until he mentioned it. I thought I was gonna…” His voice broke slightly. “I thought that was it, Sammy. I thought I was gonna have to, to, I don’t know, put you out of your misery.”

“Would you have?” Sam asked, unable to stop himself.

Dean stared. “I don’t know,” he said flatly. “But that’s not what matters. What matters is that you’re okay. We’re okay. The world is not dead yet. And Cas- well, he is an angel. Who knows, maybe he’ll bounce back from this eventually.”

“Maybe,” Sam agreed, hiding his uncertainty. 

Dean stood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go. Annie wants to meet. Says she’s got a few books of Bobby’s she wants to give us.”

“I’ll drive.”

Dean tossed him the keys.

Sam squinted at him curiously. “What, no warning on being careful?”

“This ain’t my baby,” Dean answered with a lazy wave of his hand.

Sam rolled his eyes, but got behind the wheel with a grin. Dean slid in beside him. As Sam drove, he drifted off to sleep within minutes.

Sam might never say it out loud it, but as be watched Dean shuffle around unconsciously, trying to get comfortable in the too-small space, he could admit to himself that he missed the Impala too.


	146. Welcome To Hogwarts - The Girl With The Dungeons And Dragons Tattoo

Dean walked into the hospital room and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Well, obviously, she should have ended up Harry,” Charlie was saying, lying on bed with her arm in a sling. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Ron is great. But not the right one for Hermione.”

Sam was nodding along seriously. “I see what you mean. Although, as long as that doesn’t mean Ron ends up Lavender. That was kinda out of left field, it was so weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Charlie laughed.

“But wait.” Sam frowned a little. “If Harry and Hermione get together, what about Ginny?”

“Luna, obviously,” Charlie replied. “Come on, they were like best friends.”

“Luna was amazing, honestly,” Sam agreed. “I think, from all the side characters, she was my favorite.”

“Mine’s McGonagall,” Charlie said. “Damn, that woman was awesome!”

“Okay, who do you hate more, Snape or Umbridge?”

Charlie sucked in a sharp breath, a look of betrayal on her face. “You hate Snape?”

“Yeah, he’s a bully and he was so stalker-ish, and he was basically a child abuser.”

“Uh, I can’t even actually argue that,” Charlie grumbled. “I don’t know, I just really love his character. Seven books and not once do you suspect his true motivations, even though the clues are peppered in from the very first installment.”

Tired of being ignored, Dean cleared his throat.

Charlie startled, while Sam just looked at him expectantly.

“If you two are done being lame geeks together,” Dean said. “The doctors are ready to release you, Charlie.”

“Your face is a lame geek,” Charlie retorted. “Harry Potter is for cool nerds and just for that comment, you are not allowed to join in.”

Dean was very abruptly reminded of a younger Sam.

“Don’t let him fool you, Charlie,” Sam said with a grin. “He’s a huge cowboy nerd, he can discuss every member of every classic rock band of the last century in detail, he can recite each and every Clint Eastwood movie by heart and he watched Disney Channel when he’s bored.”

Charlie turned back to Dean with a smirk. “Well, then, I hate to break it to you, Dean,” she said. “But you’re a ‘ _lame geek_ ' too.”

“Shut up,” Dean scowled. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they followed Charlie out the door, Sam leaned in close to Dean. “Besides,” he whispered. “Don’t forget who took me to the see the first movie when it came out.”


	147. Right Now - Reading Is Fundamental

Sam caught himself glancing at Kevin far more often that necessary. Of course, Dean took notice.

“Remind you of someone?” He asked, in a low gruff voice.

Sam smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he answered honestly. “Me.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I thought so. Look at him: all young and hopeful that he’ll get back home in time for college.”

Sam didn’t miss the bitter regret in Dean’s tone. “I don’t miss it,” he murmured.

Dean shot him a skeptical look.

Sam sighed. “Okay, yes, some parts of it I miss.” _Like not worrying about my friends being in mortal danger or dying_. “But overall…” He paused, then nodded assertively. “This is where I belong.”

Dean watched him with guarded eyes. “Here? Hunting, saving the world?”

“Being with you.”

That shut Dean up easily, along with the relief shot through his gaze.


	148. Promises, Promises - There Will Be Blood

There was only one room with a comfortable bed in Rufus' cabin. Sometimes, they would flip for it, the other taking the couch. But tonight, with the prospect of killing Dick the next day, they wordlessly settled in together, leaving space between them that was just small enough that of Dean were to shift his hand slightly, it would brush against Sam’s side.

Not that he did anything of the sort. They lay on their backs, watching the ceiling, listening to each other breathe.

Dean was the first to break it. “Think Crowley will show up tomorrow?”

Sam took a second to answer. “I hope so.”

It was the best they could do: hope.

Dean remembered the last time they’d dealt with an apocalypse. They’d shared a bed on the night before that too. He’d been so terrified of the knowledge that no matter which way it went, he would lose Sam regardless.

But it wasn’t going to be that way this time. It couldn't. 

“If we survive this tomorrow,” Dean said softly. “And our whole crazy plan works, what do you say we keep our hands clear of world-ending events?”

Sam turned to him. From the corner of his eye, Dean could see his amused smile.

“You mean leave all this big league stuff to other hunters?”

“Yep.” Dean nodded, turning as well. “We’ll go back to hunting regular monsters. No more angels and demons crap. Except Cas.”

“And Meg,” Sam supplied. “You gotta admit, she did save our ass. Plus, I think Cas might be more than a little upset if he had to say goodbye to her.”

“Man, that’s something I never thought I’d have to see,” Dean said with a chuckle. “An angel and a demon, who’d have thought?”

Sam just hummed.

“But, hey, I’m serious,” Dean said, more firmly this time. He reached out, tapping his finger against Sam’s ribs. “After this is over, we take a vacation. Rent a small cabin or something, like we used to with Dad. And just chill out for some time.”

Sam laughed, eyes closing as he shook his head. “You’d be climbing the walls in less than a week.”

“I’d make it a month, at least,” Dean argued.

Sam’s eyes softened. He extended an arm, placing his hand over Dean, completely covering it. It felt weirdly nice, Dean thought, with his stomach flipping strangely.

“We’ll get through this,” Sam promised. It was like he knew what Dean was afraid of, that saving the world again might tear them apart one more time, like he was reading Dean’s mind and picking out his fears before assuaging them.

Dean was strangely okay with that thought. 

“Of course, we will,” he grumbled. “Don’t coddle me I’m not a ten year old.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam mumbled, but there was a smirk on his face as he withdrew his hand and closed his eyes.

Dean stared at him for a few seconds, then closed his own eyes. He resolutely told himself that he didn’t miss the warmth of Sam’s freakishly giant hand.


	149. Tailspinning - Survival Of The Fittest

The room was silent except for the steady dripping of blood into a bucket. It was demon blood. The vessel, a red-haired guy in his early twenties, was strung up in chains, barely conscious and whimpering faintly.

Sam stood a few feet away, his thoughts a steady chant of _Dean Dean Dean_ to remind him of the consequences of slipping up and taking a drink of the blood.

Instead, he stood quietly and surveyed the dying demon, twirling Ruby’s knife in his fingers. The blade was crusted with blood.

When the bucket was filled to the brim, he moved forward, ending the demon’s misery with a quick slash. The vessel wouldn’t have survived anyway. Sam had been thorough. 

The fire of the summoning spell flared up. When it was dimmed, Crowley was there, stuck in a devil’s trap on the floor.

“Sam,” he greeted genially. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sam felt sudden hatred come to life within him, a welcome break from the bleak darkness that his mind had been for three weeks. Ever since…

“Where’s Dean?” He asked, voice low and rough from lack of use.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You summoned the King of Hell to ask after one human? I am busy, you know.”

Sam tilted his head towards the dead demon. “I went after your lackeys first. They didn’t seem to know anything.”

Crowley hummed, condescending, slanting an eye towards the body. “Torture. Vey nice. I see all that time in the Cage didn’t go to a complete waste on you after all.” He shrugged delicately. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. So, if you’ll just allow me to leave now, that’d be great.”

Sam growled. “Enough with the games, Crowley.” He brought his hand up, letting the blade of the knife catch the light. “I want my brother back. I don’t care if you want to make a deal or send me on some stupid errand, as long as I get him back at the end of it. So, either you help me or-”

“Or what?” Crowley snapped. “Or you’ll kill me? I’m King of Hell, you moose. You kill me and there’ll be a vacancy and the next person who fills it might not be as pleasant as me.”

A sort of desperation rose up in Sam. Gritting his teeth, he let his eyes drift slowly towards the blood-filled bucket. “Not unless the next person is me.”

Something finally shifted. Crowley’s demeanor changed, becoming wary and tense. “What are you saying?” He asked, shooting a concerned glance at the thick crimson liquid.

Sam glared at him. He didn’t want to do this, he really didn’t. But if it was the only way to get his brother back, he had no regrets. Dean would probably hate him for it, but at least he’d be alive to do it.

“I’m saying,” he spoke calmly. “That either you give Dean back to me, or I march into Hell and bring him back myself.”

For a few seconds, they stood in silence, one in calculating defiance, the other patient and internally seething.

Finally, Crowley sighed. “This is just sad and pathetic,” he announced with a sullen glare. “Dean isn’t in Hell. First thing I did after getting back from Sucracorp was check for him. He’s not there.”

The first thing Sam felt was solid confusion. “What?” He whispered.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “He’s not in Hell. There’s only one other place he could be and that’s Heaven, somewhere I have no reach.”

The ground seemed to have fallen away under Sam’s feet. The one hope he’d guiltily carried around in his chest for over a month was that Dean would be in Hell, so Sam could bring him back.

Except he wasn’t and now Sam didn’t know what to do.

“How do I know you’re not lying?’ He asked in a whisper.

Crowley looked at him with something akin to pity. “You know I can’t do that, moose. Not in a summoning circle. Them's the rules, mate.”

Sam swayed on his spot, fast losing his composure. “What about Meg and Kevin?”

Crowley shook his head. “I have my own troubles with Meg. But I won’t touch a hair on the boy’s head. I need him.” He hesitated for a second. “Here’s a tiny deal, Sam. You stay out of my way and I’ll keep all of Hell away from you.”

Sam was only half-aware of nodding, of breaking the devil’s trap, of the dry press of sulphur-tasting lips.

With the demon gone, he went through the motions of cleaning up the cabin. Disposed of the body. Threw the blood down the sink, ignoring the pang of cravings. Cleaned his knife, the needles, the poker.

All of it was done in a trance. The only thing he could think of was _I’m alone._

Dean was gone. He was dead and he was in Heaven and Sam couldn’t do a thing about it. He could summon an angel. Sure he could. But…

Dean was at peace. In Paradise. With his favorite memories. Without Sam’s memories to sully it.

God knew where Cas was.

Sam closed his eyes, unable to look at his reflection as he washed his hands. He knew what he would find: matted hair hanging in his eyes, sunken gaze, hollowed cheeks. He’d barely eaten since… Since Dean had disappeared in an explosion of Leviathan blood.

Sam suddenly choked on his own breath, falling to his knees. He couldn’t do this. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t go on. He couldn’t function. And the one thing he needed to live was out of his reach. Untouchable.

Desperate, grieving and lost, Sam stumbled out, back into the car. Dean’s scent was entrenched in the leather and Sam breathed in. If he closed his eyes, Dean was right there next to him.

Sam turned the engine, began to drive. He picked up speed, the landscape rushing past him. He was getting reckless. He knew it. He knew what he was doing was wrong. But he didn’t have it in him to care. So he drove faster. And faster. And faster.

Until he hit something.


	150. Coming Home - We Need To Talk About Kevin

Just a few hours left to the portal, by Benny’s extremely rough estimate. Just a few hours until they were out. It was okay to take a break.

Dean leaned against the tree. Just a few hours until he was back with Sam.

_Sammy_.

_Oh god._

Dean shut his eyes. It was how he'd kept himself going all this time. Sure, the 360 degree combat kept him sharp, but it was _Sam_ that gave him the strength to fight, the _reason_ for it.

Sam and his stupid dimples and bright eyes and unshakable faith and… Well. Dean could go on and on.

It was like being out of breath. Like gulping in air but somehow not getting enough.

Cas was saying something to Benny. Benny was replying a little harshly. Dean should probably break it up before it escalated, but the prospect of _freedom_ and _fresh air_ and _Sam_ hit him so hard that his knees buckled. He slid down the tree trunk, eyes still closed, the memory of his last night with Sam fresh in his mind.

Crap, he was probably going crazy, looking for Dean. Dean had no idea how long he'd been here, how it corresponded with human time. But he couldn’t shake off the fear that Sam could be in really bad conditions. What if he’d fallen off the wagon? What if he was hallucinating again? What if some monstrous-slash-demonic scum was using him for its gain under the pretense of saving Dean? What if… What if he was… Dead?

_Stop_ , he told himself firmly. If he let himself think about the ‘ _What if?_ ’s, he would lose it. He couldn’t afford that. He had to believe Sam was okay. He had to believe he was going home. Home to Sam and the Impala.

Dean took a deep breath. With Sam’s face fixed firmly in his mind’s eye, he barked at Cas and Benny to shut up and start walking.

_I’m coming, Sammy_.


	151. Rough - What's Up, Tiger Mommy?

Sam found Dean staring off into the distance, standing aimlessly at the snacks aisle of the small store.

“Dean!” He hissed.

He started visibly, fixing Sam with a wary glance. “What?”

“What the hell was that back there?” Sam demanded. “Since when do you lose your cool interrogating a witness?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “He was a criminal,” he said, waving it off.

“Oh come on, his worst crime was stealing from poorly guarded locker facilities,” Sam reminded. “And in any case he was still a civilian. Relatively speaking. Point is, we don’t rough up people like that, not unless it’s super serious. You _know_ that.”

“Well, excuse me, if I’m having a crappy day,” Dean snapped.

“No, Dean, you’ve had a crappy _year_ ,” Sam cut in. “And now you can’t get it through your grad that it’s _over_ , that you’re _out_.” He gentled his voice. “And I don’t blame you. I don’t know what it was like, but I can tell that it was bad. You’ve got every right to not be okay.”

“I _am_ okay!” Dean insisted angrily.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “A petty thief got a little sassy with you and you throttled him with your tie before pulling a knife on him,” he deadpanned. “You’re not even in the ballpark of okay. And like I said, I’m not blaming you. But you’re not really helping yourself. You’re not letting me help. You’re telling me I wouldn’t believe you, that I wouldn’t get it. But you gotta talk to someone, man, if only to help you deal with it. And unfortunately, I’m the only one around. So please, just… Just talk to me.”

He finished his rant and crossed his fingers at his sides.

Dean stared at him. He abruptly gave a little laugh, devoid of humor. “Talk to you, right,” he muttered. “How about you first tell me why you didn’t look for me? Why you just left me to rot because of a dog and a girl, of all things.”

Sam felt bile rise up his throat. His mind flashed back to Rufus' cabin, a demon strung up in chains, a bucket full of blood, a summoning that gave him a broken heart and a dead brother. He thought about those long dark minutes when he’d considered taking the shortcut upstairs. Or downstairs, if that was where he truly belonged. He thought about Dean's reaction the last time demon blood and anything else to do with Hell had been involved. 

But Dean scoffed before he could decide whether to speak or not.

“Whatever, man, I don’t even wanna know,” he muttered, voice dark with hatred. He walked away.

Sam stood there for a few seconds, trying to simply breathe.


	152. Claim Of Birthright - Heartache

Sam had changed. He’d changed in a way that Dean couldn’t fathom, couldn’t understand. It was like Stanford all over again, Dean versus Apple Pie.

Except they were both older, arguably wiser, and had been through crap more than once.

Dean found himself falling back to the mindset he’d had seven years ago, when they’d been looking for Dad. He’d done everything he could to try and make it easier for Sam, tried to remind him of the good parts of hunting, in the hopes that he would change his mind and stay.

But Sam wasn’t playing his part. He wasn’t snapping back at Dean, wasn’t arguing or fighting his every move, wasn’t calling him out on his BS or any of that old behavior. Instead he was… Compliant, almost. Letting Dean drag him on cases with only a token protest, softly and calmly reminding him that this was temporary.

Dean hated it.

Because he’d changed too.

He could trust Sam to have his back, of course, he could. But the second Sam had admitted to giving up hunting and settling down, Dean had lost the faith that Sam wouldn’t willingly hurt him. Because that’s exactly what he was doing now: hurting Dean.

And Dean, with his skills honed sharper than ever, defended himself the only way he knew how to: fighting back. Weapons of choice? Low blows, harsh words and underhanded attempts at inducing nostalgia for the hunt.

Right now, from the vending machine, he watched Sam waiting in the car, staring at his phone with an expression Dean recognized easily: longing, heartbreak, love.

And it flamed the simmering anger beneath his ribs.

He wasn’t letting Sam off the hook like this. Sam was his brother, his partner, his. Dean had literally fought for him, to keep him. He’d be damned before letting some girl who’d known him for a year steal him away from Dean.

When he returned, sliding behind the wheel like he’d never been gone, Sam had already tucked the phone away and his face was passive and unbothered.

Looked like Sam didn’t entirely trust Dean either, didn’t trust him not to trash talk his dreams and his desires.

“Ready?”

“Yep. On to Boulder.”

Dean turned the engine and squashed down any guilt he felt at keeping Sam away from his supposed happiness.


	153. Prettier Than Ryan And Sandra - Bitten

They were cute together, Kate thought, the two FBI agents-slash-werewolf hunters. They were both tall, obviously well built under their suits. The taller one looked, well, _soft_ was the best word for it, with long hair and dimples, looking tired. The shorter one was more rugged, Ryan Reynolds-type but prettier, with a perpetual air of anger.

It was her turn to be stalking them, while Brian and Michael waited in the car. Technically, it wasn’t a good idea to be spying on Feds, but these guys weren’t the real deal anyway and they hadn’t noticed Michael watching them at the diner either.

Anyway, they’d moved on from talking about the case and were simply sitting side by side on a park bench. Kate took the bench next to them, pretending to read a book, noting with some amusement that despite the ample space on the seat, the two men sat close enough that they were brushing against each other with every movement.

“Look, I’m just saying, you don’t need me,” the taller one- _Sam_ \- was saying. “You obviously want to keep hunting and I don’t.”

“How can you just not want to hunt anymore?” The other one asked, _Dean_ , she was sure his name was. “I mean you didn’t complain even once all these years.”

Over the top of her book, Kate watched Sam look away, running a hand through his hair like he was nervous.

They were done talking about the werewolf topic, it seemed. Kate should probably get up and go, leave them to sort out their issues in actual privacy. But she was a sucker for trouble-ridden romance stories and these two were shaping to be a real life star-crossed couple. Sort of. Obviously, whatever had kept them apart for a year, as Michael had reported, was pretty serious.

Unaccepting parents?

Religious problems?

Something work-related?

She shook herself and tuned in to the conversation again. It was also a good way to distract herself from worrying about Brian. 

“Whatever, you’re wrong, alright?” Dean was snapping. “I do need you.”

“No, I really don’t think you do,” Sam murmured, so soft that Kate had to strain her ears. “You just want me. And… And I’ll stay as long as it takes to fix the Kevin problem, and until you’re completely, totally recovered from Purgatory.”

“And then what?” Dean demanded. “Then you’ll leave? Go back to play happy families with that girl?”

_Ouch_ , Kate winced. There was someone else involved. Had Sam cheated on his partner? Somehow she doubted it was that simple. If it had been a one-time affair, like something in the heat of the moment, or a drunken roll in the hay, then they wouldn’t be talking about Sam going back to her. And if it was a genuine, long-term relationship while Dean had been away to wherever _(Purgatory?)_ for whatever reason, then why did Sam look like it was physically hurting him to consider leaving Dean?

Damn it, Kate really wanted to find out.

But Sam finally sighed. “Come on, let’s head back.” He got up, started walking away.

Dean stayed in his place for a moment, just long enough for Kate to see hurt and sadness flash through his face. Then he stood up and followed after Sam.

Well, if this whole werewolf thing blew over without too much trouble, Kate was definitely changing their movie project to an office romance movie, a la The Proposal.


	154. Wake Up, Call - Blood Brother

It was three simple words. “So, how’s Sam?”

Back in Purgatory, once they’d gotten past the whole “ _We want to kill each other but we also need each other to get out of here_ ” part, they’d talked to each other a lot. Purgatory didn’t let you sleep or eat. You were as good as dead. Didn’t stop you from wanting those things though.

Benny had wanted sunlight, fresh air, to see his family again. Or what remained anyway.

Dean had wanted Sam. He wouldn’t shut up about Sam. Sure, he’d talk about cheeseburgers and pies and this sweet Chevy, but Sam had the starring role. Benny had built up the image in his head: Dean’s perfect little brother, who’d screwed up monumentally, been screwed over by the world, but still gave his life to do the right thing. Benny admired Dean- his skills, his snappy remarks, his fair nature. He thought he would get along well with Sam too. Dean had agreed.

So, he was surprised when his question had Dean freezing up, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Dean?”

“He’s fine,” Dean answered. “He’s, um, yeah. He’s good. We’re good, we’re hunting.”

Benny looked at him with a frown. “Something wrong, brother?”

Dean looked like he wanted to throw up. But after a moment, he replied, “We’re having a few communication problem. And… I haven’t really told him about you yet, so hold off on that ‘meeting the family plan' you’ve got.”

Benny blinked. “Is it ‘cause of the vamp thing?” He asked. “Thought you said he’d be okay with it. Not prejudiced.”

Dean nodded. “No, yeah, that part shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then what?”

Dean sighed. “It’s just… We’re not in a good place right now, you know. He apparently hooked up with some chick while I was gone and has been playing house with her for the whole year. And I was going to tell him about you, but then I realized it would sorta feel like I was… I don’t know… Trying to make him jealous. You know, like I feel.” He was rambling by the end of it, pretty much venting.

Benny stared at him. “Dean, don’t mean to be nosing in, but… Why would you be jealous of a girl who’s dating your brother? And also, why would introducing me make your brother jealous?”

It was something he’d expected even in Purgatory, the light in Dean’s at the mention of Sam, the longing, the love. It was all really obvious to anyone who wasn’t a Winchester, apparently.

Dean, at the moment, seemed to have frozen, incomprehension and shock playing across his features. “Uh, what? What does that- I mean…” He stammered. “It’s complicated, alright?’ He finally settled on with a huff. “I mean, Sam and I… We’ve always had each other, through everything, especially when we didn’t have anyone else. Okay? So, we’ve just never liked it, either of us, when one of us has someone else… It’s complicated, okay?”

Benny hummed, smirking a little as his vision went a little hazy with blood loss. “Just saying. I ain’t judging. But you might at least admit it to yourself that you’re at least a little bit in love with-”

“Don’t finish that!” Dean snapped. “I’m not… We’re not. It isn’t like that!”

But the fearful note, the apprehension, the slight uncertainty, gave him away.

“Whatever you say, brother,” Benny murmured, smiling slightly. “Whatever you say.”


	155. Sticks And Stones - Southern Comfort

Sam was sitting on his bed, researching more on specters, when the door opened and Dean stumbled in.

Sam frowned. The salt lines and devil’s trap were intact, so Dean wasn’t possessed by ghost or demon. But then… “Back so soon?” He asked. It was second nature to ask after him, despite his anger. “What, did you strike out?”

Dean glanced at him with alcohol-glazed eyes. “Not in the mood,” he mumbled, closing the door and leaning against it.

Sam narrowed his eyes. Picking out the silver knife from his boot, he tossed it to Dean.

Even drunk off his ass, his reflexes were sharper than a normal person. He caught it easily, stroking the edge of the blade before tossing it back. “I’m me.”

Sam scoffed. “In a sense,” he muttered. “You haven’t hooked up once in the three months since you got back from Purgatory-”

“Don't want to.”

“You’re friends with a vampire-”

“Saved my life.”

“You’ve been lying to me and keeping secrets-”

“Knew you’d be bitchy.”

“And you’ve been crucifying me for wanting to go back to Amelia-”

“Don’t want you to leave.”

“But sure, Dean, _you’re you_ … Wait, what?” He watched warily as Dean lurched forward, tripping over his own two feet before collapsing next to Sam. “Dude, this is my bed.”

Dean didn’t seem to hear him. He just stared up at Sam, eyes wide like he believed that if he looked hard enough, he’d find some wondrous secrets in Sam’s face.

Except Sam didn’t have anything like that. His secrets were shameful, full of blood and dark places he’d sworn to never go to, promises he’d broken. He didn’t want to see Dean’s disappointment if he ever found out, so he looked away, back at his computer screen.

“Go to your bed, Dean,” he muttered.

Dean shifted. “Was possessed,” he said, surly. “Didn’t mean any of it.” He paused, then amended, “Didn’t mean all of it.”

“Right.” Sam laughed without humor. “I don’t even wanna ask which parts.”

Dean’s hand twitched in Sam’s peripheral vision, like he wanted to reach out and touch him but was restraining himself. Sam didn’t know what to make of that.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask _why_ Benny was a better brother than him. Why whatever Sam did, he ended up letting Dean down. 

Dean had been mad, _so mad_ when he’d come back from Hell, first suspecting Sam of pulling some crap deal, then accusing him of being stupid to use demon blood as a way to get him back. Now, when Sam had followed his advice and left well enough alone, if only because he was on the literal verge of suicide, he was still angry. Angry that Sam hadn’t looked for him.

It gave him whiplash, the way Dean would turn around and change the rules, expecting Sam to just keep somehow.

Sam was tired. He couldn’t imagine a life without his brother, he just couldn’t. The year with Amelia, he’d still been half-dead. But he couldn’t do _this_ anymore either. He couldn’t roll with the punches and keep standing up anymore, not when _Dean_ was the one throwing the punches. He just… He wasn’t strong enough for that. Not anymore. After everything he’d done to win Dean’s trust, he had still failed. It was time to give up.

And he would. Soon. He just… Needed a little time with his brother. Just a little more.

A glance down showed that Dean had fallen asleep. It was tempting to stay there, curl up next to him, like they sometimes did, when they both needed comfort. They definitely needed it now. Sam just didn’t really think that Dean wanted it from _him_.

With a sigh, he put his laptop away. He adjusted Dean on the pillows more comfortably, tucking him under the covers, pulling his shoes off. 

Then he settled into what was originally Dean’s bed and turned the lights off.

_Just a little more time_ , he told himself.


	156. Counselling - A Little Slice Of Kevin

As Dean offered to tail Kevin and Mrs Tran to the meet up spot with Garth, that left Sam and Cas in the motel.

With Dean absent, Cas took up residence on his bed. He was surprised when Sam joined him at the foot of the mattress, sitting near Cas' legs.

“So, how are you holding up?” He asked softly. “For real?”

Cas had to stifle a smile. He’d missed Sam, more than he cared to admit. How odd to think that there was a time when all he thought of the boy was ‘ _Lucifer’s vessel_ ’. It was as wondrous as the fact that the angel now thought of himself as _Cas_ , not _Castiel_.

“I am fine,” he assured. “Tired, of course, and still not at full power. But I’ll be recovered from that soon enough.”

Sam nodded, obviously not happy with the answer, but letting it go. Funny thing was, Cas was being truthful. He really did feel fine. As long as he didn’t think about his crushing guilt, or Heaven's obvious disappointment in him, or how he’d betrayed the angels who’d trusted him. He was fine.

_Or maybe_ , he thought detachedly, _I’ve been spending too much time with Winchesters_.

“How have you been?” He asked.

Sam started, jolted out of his own thoughts. “Uh, good. I mean, I am good. I…”

“In Purgatory, I often feared that, with me gone, your hallucinations might return,” Cas told him seriously.

Sam looked surprised at the admission. “Uh, no, no, that didn’t happen. Thankfully. Thanks for worrying, I guess.”

Cas tilted his head. “And how is Dean? For real?”

Sam paused, eyes darting to the view of the parking lot from the window. “He’s… Doing better. I mean, we had a bumpy few weeks when he first came back. He was mad that I… That I gave up hunting. And I was mad because he didn’t tell me he was all buddy-buddy with a vampire.” His voice went up a notch at the end of his sentence and he flinched at himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Cas assured. “But Benny is not a bad person, though he does try my patience at times. And I’m sure you had a perfectly good reason for giving up hunting.”

Sam swallowed. “Thanks, Cas,” he muttered. 

Cas frowned. “What is it?”

Sam sighed. “Dean doesn’t agree. He thinks I betrayed him. And… Honestly, for a while there, I frankly considered going back. You know, just, find Kevin and Mrs Tran, get them to safety, and then… Get out. Again.”

Cas took care not to visibly react to that. He could only imagine how Dean would have taken that news, not to mention how bad things must have gotten between the brothers for Sam to genuinely consider leaving.

“I mean, we were barely going a day without fighting, you know,” Sam went on.

Cas got the feeling he’d been holding all this back for a while.

“He kept bringing up Amelia to taunt me, I kept hounding him about Benny, and then a month ago, we had this really big fight, and Dean said a few things and…” He paused. “It wasn’t even really his fault,” he mumbled. “He was kinda possessed. But…”

“But?” Cas asked gently, ignoring that he knew nothing about this person named _Amelia_. “You’re not thinking about leaving again, are you?”

He knew he was right when Sam smiled faintly. “Not really. I mean, I still don’t like the idea of Benny. And Dean definitely doesn’t want anything to do with Amelia. But, we’ve been better for the last few weeks. You know? I guess, maybe, as long as we don’t deliberately rile each other up, we’re fine.”

Cas waited.

Sam sighed. “And I don’t want to leave,” he admitted in a whisper. “I love her, I do. But I don’t want to go back.”

Cas nodded. “Well, there you have it then,” he assured.

Dean walked in just then. Lost in their conversation, neither Cas nor Sam had heard the Impala. Dean stared at them, something like suspicion rife in his eyes. “Uh, what were you guys doing all this time?”

Cas blinked innocently up at him. “We were having a heart-to-heart. It was quite touching and a good way to bond.”

Dean stared. Sam blushed.

Cas internally wondered whether Dean would want to talk about his own feelings regarding Sam or not.


	157. Pinocchio And The Real Boy - Hunteri Heroici

Cas' return had been a welcome surprise _(shock)_ , if entirely unexpected. Despite that, with Cas playing Invisible Man to keep an eye on elderlies, Dean felt a sense of calm with just him and Sam in the car.

Sam, on the other hand, had a thinking face on.

“Hey,” Dean said, slapping his arm lightly to get his attention. “Where’s your head at?”

Sam side-eyed him carefully. “Have you noticed I grew my hair out the last year?”

Dean blinked. “Kinda hard not to. You look like a Disney Princess. Just need a nice dress and ten-inch heels.”

“So you don’t like it?” Sam asked.

“Absolutely not,” Dean retorted, wondering why Sam was asking this. His hair had been a prime aspect of his rebellion when they’d been kids and he had never listened to either Dean or their Dad about cutting it off. “You look like some hobo hippie with no style.” His nose itched, making him frown as he scratched the tip.

Now Sam had an intent look on his face. “Do you really not like listening to Top 40? At all?” 

Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to give Sam a confused look. “No, they’re all too cheesy and stupid. Classic rock all the way for me, thanks. What’s with the interrogation?” His nose itched again and it felt really weird, like it was being pulled.

“How many times have you watched Princess Bride?”

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean exclaimed, horrified. “Christo!”

Sam’s lips twitched, pursing together the way they always did when he was trying not to laugh. “Come on, I won’t tease. How many times?”

“Just once!” Dean said, exasperated and confused. He wondered how quickly he could reach the silver knife in his boot. His nose itched again, making him scowl harder. “There was nothing else on and I was bored!”

Sam suddenly burst into laughter, a hand landing on Dean’s shoulder in an act of support. “Pull over,” he managed to say through his giggles.

More confused than ever, Dean obliged.

“Now look into the mirror.”

Dean adjusted the rear view mirror slightly and…

“WHAT?” He yelped. He reached up to his face, staring at his reflection. His nose was longer. By two inches. Like… Like Pinocchio. “Sam? Sammy, my nose, my, oh god.”

Beside him, Sam wasn’t even trying to hold his laughter. “Oh, what would all the girls say now?” He teased, voice light and giddy with humor.

Dean glared at him. “This isn’t funny! This is… Fix this!”

Sam, still snickering, shrugged. “Try telling the truth maybe?”

Dean groaned. “Fine. Damn it. I watched that movie at least ten times, it’s a classic, and I refuse to be judged.” He felt his nose twitched, a light pang of pain through his facial muscles. “And yes, I listen to Top 40 when I’m driving alone. Some- _and only some_ \- are actually good.” Another twinge of pain.

Sam waited patiently. “One more to go,” he said cheerfully.

Dean was really tempted to gag him. “I like the hair,” he admitted in a low voice, jaw clenched. “Looks good. Soft. Kinda want to touch it.” A third nose twitch and Dean knew without looking that it was back to normal.

Sam, meanwhile, was having another giggle fit. “Your face,” he wheezed. “Oh god, that was perfect.”

Dean stared at him for a few seconds; eyes open and shining, dimples deep and prominent, body loose and without any tension. Dean felt his heart speed up at the sight.

Then he remembered victim numero uno.

_Stop it_ , he told himself. He could hope that he and Sam were going to be alright, but that had nothing to do with whatever Benny has been implying.

“Sam,” he said calmly, once his heart was back to normal. “Unless you want to restart a prank ear, I suggest you shut up and forget everything I just said.”

Sam paused for a second, then smiled widely, no longer laughing, but still happy. “As you wish,” he quipped.

Dean pretended the phrase didn’t make him want things he should never want.


	158. Treat You Better - Citizen Fang

Amelia saw him out of the corner of her eye. A shadow walking away from the window, tall and slouched. She didn’t know how, but she could tell who it was immediately, and despite Don’s presence, her heart clenched.

_Don’t do it_ , she told herself.

But before she knew it, she was telling Don that she wanted to go for a walk before bed and headed straight to the bar.

Her intuition was right. He was right there. Sam, with his broad shoulders, slumped back, soft hair falling from behind his ears. He had his back to her and she should have left without saying a word, no matter that she wanted the exact opposite. But before she could decide, he was getting up and turning, only to falter upon seeing her, while she stood frozen, gazing up at him.

“It really is you,” she breathed. He didn’t answer, but his eyes were dark and sad. Amelia met his gaze and thought, _heartbreak_. 

Was it for her? Or had he found someone else? Someone he loved. Had that someone else let him go too?

She couldn’t ignore the flare of jealousy and resent in her stomach, however hypocritical. Because the look on Sam’s face was familiar. Not quite as bad as the first few weeks they’d known each other, when he’d thought of her as an angry lady and she called him a creep. No, this was the expression he’d worn when they were told that Don had been found: grief, anger, envy and, above all, resignation.

Then Sam stepped forward, breaking her trance. “Amelia,” he started.

But her phone rang and one look at the caller ID had her backing away from him. “I have to go,” she mumbled, as she practically ran out the bar.

Later that night, after Don had left, Amelia lay in bed and wondered if Sam really had found someone else and why they had hurt him.


	159. Fall To Pieces - Torn And Frayed

“It depends on you. On whether or not you’re done with him.”

In other words, it was either Sam or Benny.

And Dean chose Benny. He walked out.

For who knew how long, Sam stood frozen on the spot in shock. Never in his whole life, _not_ _once_ , had Dean picked someone else over him, _trusted_ someone else more than him.

Sam had made that mistake before, with Ruby. But he’d learned his lesson and after everything they’d been through since then… For Dean to just leave Sam like this was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Except it had happened and there was nothing Sam could do about it.

Somehow, he managed to step back towards the small couch, collapsing into it. He could feel tears pricking his eyes and he closed them, refusing himself the cathartic release of crying.

Would Dean go back to Benny? Would they start hunting together? The passenger seat of the Impala, the one that had always belonged to Sam since Dean has turned 18, would that become Benny’s too?

Sam was overcome with sudden fury, feeling an animalistic urge to track down that vampire and slice his head off, end the night exactly how he’d intended to before Dean sent that stupid fake text.

But the fury went as fast as it came. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t hurt Benny, couldn’t touch a hair on his head. Not anymore. Not when he knew that it would break Dean’s heart.

Maybe he _could_ handle the compromise. Maybe he could deal with knowing that Benny and Dean were friends, as long as he himself didn’t have to see the vampire, didn’t have to lock eyes with the person who shared something with his brother that Sam never could. Maybe... 

No. No, he couldn’t. Either it would break his heart or he’d break Benny’s neck.

Sam looked down at his hand. Gingerly, he pressed a blunt nail into the ugly jagged scar that ran across his palm. He pressed hard, hard enough that he could imagine feeling the blood rushing under the skin.

But nothing happened. His vision didn’t flicker. Dean didn’t miraculously appear. He didn’t suddenly find himself in the Impala.

Sam sighed, heart breaking further.

Pulling on his jacket, he went out, going back to the bar he’d just returned from. Hopefully, he wouldn’t run into Amelia again. He didn’t think he could take two rejections in one night.


	160. Rewrite The Stars - LARP And The Real Girl

Sam had suggested the LARPing and he seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed it. So Dean decided to push his luck just a little and asked Charlie if the forest area allowed for campers.

She’d confirmed instantly. “Sure, there’s a path off the game trails that’s used by campers. We usually keep track of how many people are there at any given time so we don’t disturb anyone with our games. And there isn’t anyone there right now, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

She’d wanted to come with as well, but Dean had hastily explained that he and Sam needed this time alone. She’d understood immediately and had waved them off with a supportive grin and a knowing twinkle in her eyes that he resolutely ignored.

Sam, much to Dean’s delight, hadn’t protested. In fact, he’d seemed excited. So now they were in a large clearing, covered in traces of previous campers _(though not glampers, Charlie had assured)_.

They’d washed their makeup off in Charlie’s tent and changed into their own clothes, but Sam had kept the ponytail.

“Well, it’s confirmed,” Dean spoke in a lazy drawl. “You’re officially a girl.” They were lying on their backs, a tiny fire going, a tent borrowed _(stolen)_ from years ago set up behind them. Above them, the sky was inky black, and they were far enough from civilization that the stars were clear and bright.

Sam scoffed. “Says the man who wore a lame-ass wig.”

“Hey, now, that was a game. You _still_ have your hair up.”

Sam shifted around, getting comfortable, unconsciously closer to Dean. “It’s too hot to not. I always tie my hair when I exercise or go for a run. Just untie it again before you see me.”

Dean glanced towards him. He wasn’t going to admit it, but the ponytail didn’t look half-bad.

Sam met his scrutiny with a raised eyebrow and Dean forgot whatever he was going to say.

“Ummm…”

Sam sighed. “Go ahead. I know you’re dying to ask.”

Dean floundered for a moment, before realizing. There was a question that had been stuck on the tip of his tongue since that night in Rufus' cabin. Several questions. “What happened with Amelia?”

Sam looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “Nothing. She asked me to choose, I said we needed time to think. We were supposed to meet in that motel room, depending on our choice.”

Dean waited for a second. “So what did you tell her?”

Sam chuckled lightly. It sounded sad. “Nothing. I didn’t even call her, Dean.”

“Why not?” Dean asked with a frown.

“Because I had nothing to say to her. I’d already apologized. And I already told her I love her.”

Dean did not wince.

“Anything more… Calling to tell her that I wouldn’t be there… That’s just cruel.” He changed the topic before Dean could ask for more. “What about, uh… Benny?”

Dean swallowed. “He understands. To tell the truth, I think he saw it coming.” There was a slight pause. “I swear I didn’t mean it,” he said softly. “He’ll always mean a lot to me, but I’ll never choose him over you. I never meant it to sound like that. And it was a dick move, making it sound like I didn’t trust you anymore. That was never the case.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. “I believe you.” He turned and Deam could feel his eyes. “You’re never gonna tell me about Purgatory, are you? About what exactly happened there?”

Dean shut his eyes, trying to banish the grey-tinged memories. “I can’t,” he protested, voice breaking.

Sam’s fingers found his side, stroking gently over his ribs through the thin cloth. Dean breathed out slowly, the touch soothing and warm in the cool night.

“As long as we’re confessing,” Sam spoke lowly. “I _did_ look for you. I thought you were dead and I did everything I could think of to get you back. Until I couldn’t.”

The words shocked him. Dean turned on his side, eyeing his brother with confusion. “What did you do?” He asked, curious and more than a little scared and worried. 

He got a faint smile in return. “I can’t tell you. Just… Trust me. Please. Just believe it: I did look for you.”

Dean stared. “I believe you.” It was the truth. And Sam’s admission was suddenly all he really needed.

Sam’s smile grew, wide and beautiful, eyes shining in the firelight, brown fading to green blending into blue.

Dean had always known his brother was his while world. He’d never wanted it any other way. And now, with the stars shining down on them, like little blessings from whoever, Dean accepted the frantic beating of his heart and watched Sam until they both fell asleep.


	161. Family Trait - As Time Goes By

“He’s my family. He’s all I’ve got.”

Henry stared at his grandson, feeling unexplainably sad. “If you let me go back, you’ll have your father. John will be trained as a Man Of Letters. He’ll have the knowledge to protect your mother. You’ll have her too. You’ll have me and my wife. You'll have your whole family, Dean, not just Sam.”

Dean actually paused for a second, longing rife on his face. “You can’t guarantee that. I’ve done my fair share of time travelling and I’m telling you- you can’t change the past without screwing something else up. And in any case, our mom was a hunter. If she couldn’t protect herself, what makes you think you Letters could?”

John was momentarily distracted. “My son married a hunter?” He groaned. That would have been quite the scandal if everything had happened the way it should have. Then, he saw Dean’s scowl and flaming eyes. “I mean… I apologize. I simply meant… I can guarantee my success. As I mentioned before, the Men of Letters have more knowledge than anyone else in the world. We simply weren’t ready for Abaddon's attack. If I go back and warn them, we will have the time to figure something out. And then you’d be Men of Letters as well. You and Sam wouldn’t have to hunt.”

He could see Dean thinking about it, mulling over his words. He could also see the instant he made up his mind. “You don’t get it, Henry. Sam and I… We’re all each other has. And sure, sometimes, I want something more. We both do. But neither of us want that at the cost of what we have together. So.” Dean looked at him, face set in determination. “You could offer to bring Mom back, or Dad, or make it so neither Sammy nor I ever went to Hell. But if the price for that is not having Sam the way I have him now, then I won’t take it.”

For a few brief seconds, Henry felt pride burning in his chest.

Dean had none of John’s features- no, those had gone to Sam. But the sheer stubbornness, the confidence, the vehemence in Dean’s voice- that was all John. The 4 year old kid that Henry had seen just two days ago and would never see again. 

The pride was replaced by guilt and grief, because what Sam and Dean has gone through, what John had gone through- that was his fault. He’d messed up.

He took a deep breath. He could still fix this. “What do you have in mind?” He asked calmly.


	162. Such A Flirt - Everybody Hates Hitler

“Dean?!” Sam called, looking around. “Dean!”

The bunker was huge and easy to get lost in, not to mention the number of magical items scattered around in different rooms. It would be just like Dean to touch a cursed object that turned him into a bunny or something.

“In here!” He heard Dean’s voice call.

He followed it into the large marble-floored bathroom, only to find Dean in a bath tub, surrounded by bubbles.

Sam stared for a few seconds, before closing his eyes. “That tub was not that big when I saw it this morning.”

“Yeah, same!” Dean said enthusiastically. “But I figured, it’ll just be a little tightly fitting. But hey! I get in and it’s weirdly enough the right size.”

The explanation was absurd enough that Sam opened his eyes again. Anyway, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in various states of nudity before. “So, you’re saying, our magical underground bunker comes equipped with a magically resizing bathtub?”

Dean finger-gunned him. “There ya go, college boy.”

Sam blinked. Dean hadn’t called him that in years.

“So was there something you wanted to tell me?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, then paused. He’d been planning on asking for Dean’s help in refiling, put him to work while Sam pored over the texts.

But looking at Dean now, completely relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in years, Sam couldn’t bring himself to say it. After the day they'd just had, maybe they could use a little downtime. Well, Dean, at least. 

“Sammy?” Dean was peering at him, concerned with how long it was taking to answer. “Earth to Sam, you hearing me?” He waved a bubble-covered hand in the air. “What is it?”

Sam shook his head, letting his eyes wander over Dean’s partially hidden form with a sly grin. “Just wondering- when did you become so high maintenance that you needed a bubble bath after getting thrown around a little bit?”

Dean stared at him for a second more, before deciding he was being honest. “I’m offended, Sam,” he pouted, a hand to his bare chest. “I’m not the one who uses girly shampoo and blow dries my hair!”

Sam made an insulted noise. “I don’t blow dry!”

“Oh no, right, you wrap an extra towel around your head so it doesn’t drip onto your clothes.” Dean nodded sagely.

Sam scoffed. “Shut up. And get out of the tub, you’re starting to look like a wet raisin.”

“Are you going to stand there and watch me get out of the tub?” Dean deadpanned.

Sam narrowed his eyes, rising to the bait like he knew Dean wanted him to. “Or I could steal the towel and your clothes and make you run after me naked?”

Dean grinned. “Aww, that’s an adorable try. But dinner and drinks before you get my clothes off, okay, sweetheart?”

A whole lifetime of listening to Dean’s cheesy lines and Sam still found himself blushing when they were directed at him. He cursed himself for breaking so quickly and turned on his heel. “I’ll be in the upper library room,” he called over his shoulder.

Dean’s laughter followed him out.


	163. After All These Years - Trial And Error

Dean lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. It wasn’t just the fact that he no longer knew how to sleep alone in a room, it was also that he couldn’t stop worrying. About Sam, of course. Duh.

There was a knock at the door. It opened slowly and Sam’s silhouette appeared, like he was still psychic and had heard Dean’s silent distress.

“Hey,” he greeted in a whisper, slipping in without asking permission.

“Hey,” Dean parroted, automatically shifting to make space.

Sam slid in beside him, but he didn’t stop there. He scooched closer to Dean, curling into his side with a giant Sasquatch hand on Dean’s chest and giant Sasquatch feet stuck between Dean’s calves.

Dean didn’t protest, keeping his surprise silent. They usually ended up cuddling in their sleep when they shared a bed, but they’d never deliberately done it while both were awake. But he simply turned his head to the side, breathing in Sam’s shampoo. “Nightmare?” He asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Woke me up and I realized something. Thought I oughta tell you.”

“What?”

Sam’s warm breath tickled Dean’s throat. “I saved you from Hellhounds.”

It took him a second to understand, but when he did, he was hit by a surge of affection and annoyance. “Please tell me you didn’t do that trial to make up for something that happened years ago? Something I never blamed you for? Something you made up for by saving the freaking world?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Not because of that.”

“Then why?” Dean demanded, the fear he’d been carrying around since Sam stabbed the hound making his heart beat wildly. “Why the hell would you be so stupid?”

“Because you’ll die!” Sam hissed, pinching his side in punishment. “Because everything is a suicide mission for you. Because you still think I’d be happy without you. I mean, I left Amelia high and dry for you, Dean! What else do I need to do to get it through your thick head that I can’t live without you either?”

There was a lump in Dean’s throat, because no matter how many times Sam said it, hearing it was always something wondrous, goddamn miracle.

Sam sighed, settling back in. “That perfect life you’re picturing for me? It’s only perfect if you’re there too.”

Dean wanted to agree. His perfect life was only with Sam by his side. But he also wanted to argue because he knew Sam. There were things Sam wanted that Dean couldn’t give him. And… And Dean- who'd turned down a willing woman, not just because of the case, but because he couldn't take his mind off his little brother- could admit to himself, in dark and silent moments, that there were things he wanted that he could never ask of Sam. If he did, he might lose him. 

“Okay,” he breathed out. “Okay, Sammy. But no dying, you hear me?” I can't... I just can't. Okay?"

“No dying. Promise.”

And Dean just couldn’t tell if Sam was lying or not.


	164. Ghost Sniffers - Man's Best Friend With Benefits

“Oh, good boy,” Sam murmured, petting the dog. Ever since the case with James and Portia _(he avoided thinking about the part where he’d treated a human familiar as a dog)_ , he’d been noticing every dog they ran into on a case.

Right now, they were interviewing a witness. Well, at least, Dean was. Sam had been accosted by the dog in the house, a young Labrador pup that fit across his lap.

“His name is Bolt,” the witness offered, watching them with a fond grin. Sitting across her, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Oh, Bolt, that’s a good name,” Sam continued to murmur, rubbing the puppy's ears. “Yeah, you like that, don’t ya?”

“Anyway, Miss Jennings,” Dean interrupted, sounding annoyed. “How about you tell me what you saw that night? And don’t worry about sounding too weird, we’ve got a lot of experience with weird.”

Dean continued to interrogate her, while Sam walked around the house searching for hex bags, Bolt trailing after him with little mewling sounds.

When they were done, Sam actually felt a little pang of regret at leaving the enthusiastic pup behind.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean warned as soon as Sam opened his mouth.

“But, Dean, come on, we’ve got the bunker now,” Sam tried to say. “We can leave it behind for short hunts and just bring it with us on cases that might take too long. And I promise I’ll do all the work, you won’t have to take care of anything.”

“It’ll be a liability,” Dean argued.

Sam knew how this conversation was going to end. Truth be told, he knew exactly how much of a liability it would be to get a pet. And he still missed Riot, so he wasn’t looking for a replacement exactly. But he could fight with Dean on it. “We’ll train him to hunt!”

Dean stopped, staring at Sam like he’d gone nuts. “We are not getting a dog, Sam. End of story.”

“But Dean…”

“Nope, nada, not happening. And stop pouting, you look like a kid.”

Sam slumped in his seat. “Screw, you, I’ll pout if I want to.”


	165. Count - Remember The Titans

Dean Number 42 was hateful. “You’re a traitor,” he snarled. “You goaded us into starting the Apocalypse. You freed the Leviathan. And then you abandoned me in Purgatory?” He scoffed. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, Castiel.”

Cas fell to his knees, tears burning in his eyes.

Naomi drilled into his head.

Dean Number 56 was sweet and pleading. “Cas, please,” he whispered. “We’re family, you’re my brother. Don’t do this.”

The blade fell from Cas' hand.

Naomi dove deep in his head, searching for more.

Dean Number 73 was cruel. “What, you thought we cared about you?” He laughed. “You thought we were family? Wake up and smell the roses, feathers. You were just useful to us.”

Cas smote him just so he wouldn’t have to hear the accusations.

Dean Number 101 is accompanied by a Sam.

“How many times are you going to screw up, Cas?” Dean demanded. “Letting Sam out of the panic room, bringing him back soulless, being in cahoots with Crowley… List goes on.”

Sam tilted his head condescendingly. “You didn’t even have the courage to admit your mistakes. Instead, you cowered behind your excuses and pretended to be blameless. You’re a coward, Cas. Why would we care about you?”

Cas was too busy trying to defend himself to see Dean attack him from behind.

Naomi’s Grace burning in his mind was a familiar pain.

That was exactly when he heard the prayer.

_“Cas, you got you ear on?”… “We’re going into this blind.”… “I can tell he’s hurting.”… “Look out for my little brother.”… “Where are you, man?”_

Naomi’s chuckle echoed in his brain. “Oh, I see.”

Dean Number 123 and Sam Number 2 was easier than expected.

Cas held Dean at bay easily with one hand, while he flayed Sam mercilessly. Sam fought back admirably, but Cas killed him in the end, leaving his body on the floor, mangled and broken and bloody, almost beyond recognition.

Dean, who’d never stopped struggling, let out a gut-wrenching scream.

Cas let him go.

Dean ran to his brother, cradling his body to his chest. He looked up at Cas with eyes that were already lifeless. “Just do it,” he whispered. “Kill me.”

Cas stared at him for several long seconds, trying to understand why he was reluctant to do as he was supposed to. Then he shrugged and watched Dean’s eyes burn out, leaving hollow husks.

Dean Number 174 was child’s work.

Cas killed him with barely any effort.

Naomi smile was tinged with satisfaction. “Well done,” she congratulated. “You’re ready.”

He wondered why his heart felt empty. 


	166. Cut Me, I Bleed - Goodbye, Stranger

“I get it, “ Meg said with a quick nod.

Sam raised an eyebrow at her curiously. “Do you?” He asked. Like he couldn’t see the tension brewing between her and Castiel. Meg wondered, as she often did, if Sam sometimes looked at her and still saw the girl he’d met on the road and connected with in a bus station.

She shrugged. “You found a unicorn,” she repeated. “Someone to get you to hang up the knife, like you always wanted to. Like dear Clarence makes me wanna be good. Dean’s got one too.”

Sam nodded. “He had one,” he said, with an air of correction.

Meg blinked at him. “You’re still alive, aren’t ya?”

Sam frowned.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re Dean’s unicorn, you big dumbo. He’s yours, too.” Seriously, how dense could they get? “Believe me, I spent some unfortunate time in that delicious body of yours, I know what I’m talking about. He’s the only reason you’re hunting. You’re the only reason he’s fighting the good fight. Get. Your crap. Together.”

Sam shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered. But he did. She could see it in the way he looked away, fidgeting with the knife and lips quirked up in a soft smile.

Later, when the knife slipped into her heart, she thought about Cas and hoped Sam would heed her advice. A demon could probably never have a happy ending, but a couple of well-meaning killers could, right?


	167. Parental Tendencies - Freaks And Geeks

Dean left Krissy staring after him and got into the car with Sam. He could feel Sam’s amused gaze on him just as well.

“What?” He finally asked.

“Nothing,” Sam replied easily. “Just, uh… I forget sometimes, your, uh… Maternal instincts.”

Dean shifted. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“I mean, I’ve seen it before,” Sam said.

Ben Braeden's name echoed in the brief silence.

“But, I mean, it’s kinda obvious to... Well, _e_ _veryone_ ,” Sam went on. “You see a kid and you just connect with them. They look up to you, you know, they trust you, somehow.”

Dean blushed, sneaking a glance to make sure Sam wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t.

“Well, lots of chicks like guys who get along well with kids,” he grumbled.

Sam shook his head with a smile. “The chicks. Sure yeah, use that as an excuse.”

Dean smiled too, the conversation just silly enough for it. “Well, all those times I looked after you when we were kids had to come in handy, right?” He suddenly remembered something. “Man, you should see Garth, though, he’s even better.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned towards him, interested.

“Oh, yeah. He’s got this sock puppet he calls Mr Fizzles and he…”


	168. Out, Damned Spot, Out - Taxi Driver

Pure. That was how Dean had described this place. Purgatory. Pure. It had brought Dean down to a ruthless survivalist, had fixed Cas' mind. Sam didn’t want to find out what it would turn him into. And yet, he could feel his instincts changing, feeling the urge to reach out with his mind rather than swing a knife.

He refused to give in. Maybe it was good that there were no demons in here. Sam wasn’t sure he would have been able to hold himself back.

It got worse in Hell, a burning need inside him to scream, to command, _to_ _rule_. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found Bobby- someone familiar, someone to keep him grounded.

“What happened down there?” Dean asked, after Sam had conveyed Benny’s goodbye, after Dean told him about Naomi’s offer of cooperation.

Sam shrugged, coughing into his fist. “Nothing. Got ambushed a few times. Picked up a machete from the first one.”

Dean looked at him askance. “Sammy,” he said quietly. “You were there for almost 48 hours. That’s more than enough time for… Just tell me if something happened.”

Sam had a coughing fit before he could answer. Dean reached over from the driver’s seat, rubbing a hand over the length of his back. When the fit subsided, Sam’s fist was stained with red spots.

Why hadn't Purgatory affected him more? Was there something wrong with him? Was it the Trials, interfering with how the outside world should affect him? Or... Or was he already pure? No, that couldn't be it. Could it? Maybe the Trials were cleansing him? Purification by pain? 

Sam stared at the blood glistening on his skin, feeling tired, but hopeful. “Nothing happened,” he assured in a hoarse voice. “Really. Nothing.” It wasn’t even a lie.


	169. Eyes Are The Windows - Pac-Man Fever

After it was all over, Charlie found herself reluctant to leave. The boys could tell, so they casually invited her to stay the night. Somehow, Sam ended up waddled in blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed, a box of empty vials on his lap. Charlie was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the mattress, gently braiding Sam’s hair.

“Hey, Charlie, I need a few strands of your hair,” Sam finally said, voice deep and relaxed, if a little weak.

Used to these strange little things by now, Charlie collected three strands of her hair and handed them to Sam, watching him carefully fold them into a vial. “What for?”

He scribbled _Charlie_ on a small sticky note and stuck it to the vial. “Tracking spells. They always need DNA.” He held up the box, slightly tilting his head to give her better access to his own hair.

Charlie obligingly, gently plucked a few of his dark brown mop. He stuffed those into another vial, labelling it _Sam_.

Dean came in just then, carrying two boxes of pizza. “What is this, girl’s night in?” He mocked, seeing them.

“Ignore him,” Sam mumbled, leaning into her touch. “He’s just jealous his hair isn’t long enough to appreciate this.” He opened his eyes to peer at his brother. “Hey. Hair. Tracking spell.” He tossed a vial.

Dean, looking completely nonplussed, caught the vial with a roll of his eyes and did as directed. “Too bad we never got to get Kevin’s.”

Sam hummed.

Charlie watched the way Dean stared at Sam. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, soft and affectionate, but more. It made her curious. 

Charlie felt the suspicion she’d had since finding the books increase. “Hey, um…” She cleared his throat. “Those books I was talking about, how much of it is real?”

She couldn’t see Sam’s face, but Dean scowled. “We never read all of them. But pretty accurate.”

“Some things that happened aren’t written,” Sam said. “Lot of the blood and gore are cut down. Several of Dean’s hook ups aren’t mentioned.”

“So… Did the Sandover thing really happen?” She asked.

Immediately, Sam tensed in front of her. Dean froze.

“Which part?” They asked at the same time.

“Uh, the part where you two, you know, _flirtinanelavatorandmakeoutlater_.”

Dean stared at her. Sam shook her hands away from his hair to look up at her with sunken eyes.

Charlie took a deep breath. “Flirt in an elevator and make out later,” she repeated slower. She decided it was better not to mention all the weird tension in the last few books leading up to Swan Song. Not to mention the subtext littered all over the series.

Sam finally laughed softly. “Yeah, it happened. Freaked us out for a long time, especially since we found the books right after. That was definitely one of the weirdest things that had ever happened to us.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Zachariah had a thing for weird alternate realities.”

“Thank god, he’s dead,” Sam muttered, closing his eyes and relaxing again. “I never want something like that to happen again.”

Dean’s expression, for a split second, was… Heartbroken.

_Oh_ , Charlie realized.

Then he composed himself in the next moment and grabbed the laptop. “Well, if you two are done with your slumber party, can we start eating now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumbled, as he got to his feet unsteadily.

Charlie knew she hadn’t been supposed to see that soul-deep longing in Dean’s face. Only she couldn’t quite forget it now, could she?


	170. Ye Olden Days - The Great Escapist

Sam nearly tipped backwards while putting on a fresh pair of jeans and Dean caught him in time. “Hey, hey, easy,” he said, steadying him.

Sam regained his balance and batted his hands away. The movement made him stagger again and Dean caught him once more.

“I can do it,” Sam insisted, voice thin and wheezing.

Dean snorted, deftly pulling up the fly of the jeans. “Your hands have been shaking nonstop for two days now. Stop making a fuss.”

He grabbed the dry shirt he’d picked out and starting manipulating Sam’s arms through it.

Sam struggled, albeit weakly. “Dean, stop, I’m not-”

“ _For God’s sake, Sammy_!” Dean finally snapped, half-yelling. “You haven’t eaten in _days_ , you’re barely functioning and I just had to dump you into an _ice bath_ so you wouldn’t _die_ of a damn _fever_!” His voice rose, louder and louder with his increasing worry. “Stop saying you’re _okay_ , just stop it, because you're _not_ and I feel like I’m losing you and I don’t know what to do except take care of you as much as I can! So, _please_ …” He took a deep breath, swallowing, blinking back completely unexpected and unwanted tears of frustration. “Please, just let me take care of you,” he pleaded.

Sam stared at him, eyes wide, making his dark circles even more pronounced, standing out on his sallow skin. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Dean sighed. “Whatever. It’s okay. Just let me…” He trailed off and started buttoning the shirt, trying not to notice how much weight he’d lost, how delicate he seemed.

“You know the first time you yelled at me was almost the same situation?” Sam asked in a hushed voice. “It was raining. I got a cold. Dad was hunting. My clothes were all wet and you were trying to get me into dry ones, but I was being stubborn. I kept saying I was 3 years old, I could do it myself. You got frustrated, and scared because I was burning up, and you yelled at me. You’d never yelled at me before. I was so surprised I started crying and that just freaked you out even more.”

Dean closed his eyes, resting a hand over the topmost button of the shirt, Sam loose and pliant under his ministrations. “I don’t remember that,” he admitted, voice thick.

Sam laughed, that same childish giggle from before. “No surprise. You were only 7.”

Dean looked up at him, tired. “You just said you were 3. Why do _you_ remember it?”

Sam shook his head. “We need to find Metatron,” he said, walking towards the door.

Dean followed, as Sam kept talking, about storybooks, comics, Sir Galahad. He called himself impure, unclean.

Then he said, “These Trials, they’re purifying me.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. To his ears, it was too similar to Alistair. _You think this is pain, boy? No, this is transformation. This is art… Be grateful, Dean. I’m making you into a masterpiece._

But, no. No, that was nothing like this. It couldn’t be. Dean wasn’t going to let anything like that happen to Sam. He never would.


	171. Worth - Clip Show

Dean stalked off, nose in the air. Sam and Cas sighed at the same time, as the angel sat down at the table.

“He’ll get over it,” Sam assured. “He knows you weren’t completely in control and he's upset that you didn’t trust him, but he’ll get over it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Cas muttered. “I betrayed him. I… I’ve hurt him.”

“You had good intentions,” Sam said quietly. 

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Road to Hell.”

Sam smiled faintly. “Well, he trusts you. He trusts you a lot.”

Cas tilted his head in a gesture of acknowledgement. “Not as much as he trusts you.”

The words were said teasingly, in good-nature, with a genuine smile. But Sam felt himself wince. “Not always,” he said, failing to hide the bitterness. He may have accepted Benny’s position in Dean’s life and heart months ago, but it still stung. And Cas… Well, Cas might never know how close he’d come to taking over Sam’s place. Dean himself might not be entirely conscious of it.

“Sam?” Cas was looking at him with concern, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “Are you alright?”

Sam shook himself, rubbing at his temples. Apparently, the Trials were wreaking havoc on his emotional stability. “I’m fine,” he tried to assure. “Just tired.”

Cas held out a hand. “May I? Just to be thorough?”

Sam hesitated for a second, remembering the last time Cas had touched him, when he’d been soulless. But he nodded, reluctantly. Cas' fingers touched his forehead. Grace seared cold through his skin, but this time, it felt soothing, a cool comfort against the feverish clamminess. He was almost disappointed when Cas brushed his hair back and pulled away.

“Well?”

Cas swallowed. “It’s… Bad. The damage is not just subatomic, it’s soul-deep. And irreversible.”

“You mean, you can’t heal it?” He asked.

Cas shook his head. “Not from the outside, at least,” he muttered with some hesitation. “But from within…”

Sam felt a shock of fear settle in his stomach. “Within?” He repeated. “You mean… Possession?”

Cas nodded slowly.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to pull it together. “How, uh, how would… ?” He cleared his throat. “How would that even work? Isn’t a vessel unique to each angel?”

“Technically,” Cas agreed. “Vessels are created to comfortably house the angel they’re meant for. You and Dean were designed for Archangels. Your bodies are strong enough to carry them. Theoretically, any angel can possess you two quite comfortably.”

That wasn’t a nice thought. To think all it would take was a careless ‘ _yes_ '. “Theoretically?”

Cas shrugged. “No angel would dare touch Michael and Lucifer’s vessels.”

Funny how that didn’t make Sam feel any better. “So, what happens to me after the Trials?” He asked. “Will the damage heal itself? Or will it just get worse?” There was a follow up question right there, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to ask it.

Cas looked pained. “I don’t know, Sam. There’s no precedent for this.”

_Will I die?_ Sam wondered. _Will it be worth it if I do?_

Yes. Yes, it would. Definitely. If he died, so be it. At least, he'd be dying for something good.

“Cas,” he said quietly. “Don’t tell Dean about any of this.”

“Sam…”

“Please. Promise me.”

Cas nodded grimly.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief.


	172. Baby, Please Don't Go - Sacrifice

_‘So’? ‘So', really? How could you think that? How could you ever think that?_

_How did I go so wrong? How did I fail in the most important purpose of my life? I’m supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to look after you but now you’re dying next to me and I’m driving as fast as I can, but I’m afraid… I’m scared that… I’m so scared._

_Sammy, please, say something, don’t stay quiet like this. Are you there? Are you… Are you still breathing? Oh god, oh god, Sammy, breathe, look at me, please, just a small sound so I know you’re here, please…_

_I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault. I should have told you more often. I should have told you. Sam, please, don’t leave, please, I love you, I love you so much, and you promised you wouldn’t leave me, dammit, please…_

_Cas, where are you? I need you here, man, please. Sammy needs you._

_God? Please. Please, help him, someone._

_Sammy, keep your eyes open. Come on, don’t… Sam? Sam, hey, you hearing me? Sam? Sammy!_


	173. Eureka - I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

“It’s over! There’s nothing to fight for!”

Dean- Sam’s projection of Dean- hit him. And hit him again. Sam staggered back, not really bothering to defend himself. He was in his own head, after all. What was the worst that could happen?

Then Dean was pulling him upright and pressing their lips together.

For a second of sharp confusion, Sam didn’t know what to do. Then he kissed back on instinct, relaxing, because real or not, projection or not, this was Dean. And Dean wasn’t going to hurt him. And he suddenly wanted this. Wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything else. 

So he framed Dean’s face in his hands, taking control, tracing the shape of his lips with his tongue. He felt high, unbeatable, alive with electricity raising goosebumps wherever Dean touched him.

And when he pulled away for breath, he wanted more. Dean’s eyes were dark with fear, pleading. He was looking at Sam with love and care and something unknown, exactly how Dean looked at him in real life.

Because _this_ was in his head, Sam remembered. Because his Trial-sick mind had taken all of Dean's affection and turned it into this. Into a mental manifestation of something Sam hadn’t even known he’d desired. Something that he’d felt even when he’d been without a soul.

“I can’t help you, if you ain’t willing to fight for yourself,” Dean begged. Even Sam’s projection of him would do anything to protect his little brother. Including kissing him.

And Sam almost laughed at the tragedy of it. Because it wasn’t enough to have screwed up in all the different ways he already had; he also… he coveted Dean like no brother ever should. And he was only realizing it with his last breaths. 

Well, at least, this wasn’t real. He was dying. Dean, in the real world, would never have to find out.

He pried this Dean’s fingers off his jacket.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s what I want.” He patted his cheek tiredly, almost relieved when Dean faded into mist with a hurt, reproachful look.

Sam took a deep breath. Realizing he was in love with his brother minutes as he literally lay in a coma, dying, with no time for denial, no time for overthinking or talking about it- how very Winchester of him.

Sam shook his head and walked towards the cabin. He was done. 


	174. Bitter Beginnings - Devil May Care

“You want to head back the bunker yet?” Dean asked, closing the trunk on Crowley’s scowl.

Sam looked around, stretched leisurely. “You know what? Let’s take another few minutes.” He hopped on to the wooden slabs and lay down, taking the position Dean had been in.

Dean raised an eyebrow, but was happy to oblige. Looked like Ezekiel was already at work. Speaking of…

“So, you really feel alright?” He asked. “No fatigue, no dizziness… Memory lapses?”

Sam smiled. “No, I’m fine. Really. It’s weird, but I feel great.” He opened his eyes, looked at him. “I wasn’t even having nightmares.”

“Really?”

Sam hummed. “I can’t remember, but it was a pretty peaceful dream, I think, by our standards. I can’t remember who was in it, but…” He sounded uncertain, almost absently bringing his hand up to his mouth. “I think I kissed someone.”

“In your dream? Shocker,” Dean teased, internally relieved that Ezekiel seemed to have thoroughly wiped Sam’s memory. “Who knew an almost celibate person like you fantasized about the finer things in life?”

Sam huffed, not even sounding annoyed. “Shut up,” he jibed, eyes slipped shut again. 

Dean fell quiet and stared at Sam, taking in the sight of his long body all stretched out, hands folded on his chest, hair fanning out. He looked like he said he felt: good. Better than good. 

Dean wondered what the angel was doing inside him at that very moment and tried not to feel guilty about lying to Sam, especially when they’d just begun getting better at talking to each other.

_Soon_ , he promised himself. 

Sam felt his stare and turned his head to Dean. “What?” He asked, self-consciousness audible in the murmured question.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing.” The lie fell from his lips too easily.


	175. Coming To Terms - I'm No Angel

“You can’t stay,” Dean said.

Cas felt the sense of security that had slowly been settling over him fall away. He stared up at Dean for a long moment. Hurt and upset as he was, he knew why Dean was saying this. “I suppose you’re right,” he murmured. “With nearly every angel looking for me, I’m a target. They’ll find me sooner or later, however protected the bunker is. And Sam is still recovering, obviously.”

Dean looked a little relieved. “Yeah, Cas, that’s… Look, I’m sorry, seriously, I am, but…”

“I understand, Dean,” Cas cut in. “Sam comes first for you. I know.” He must have been too blunt, because Dean looked guilty.

“Thank you, Cas,” he said softly.

Cas nodded, ignoring the slight pang of longing he felt to stay. “If I may ask, how did Ezekiel heal Sam?”

Dean floundered, for a moment. “Uh, well, he didn’t really explain the process. Just worked some mojo to get him on his feet and said the rest of the damage would heal over time.”

Cas hummed, looking over at the map table where Sam had fallen asleep. He’d told Sam, just a few weeks ago, that he wouldn’t be able to heal the Trial's damage. Then again, Ezekiel was quite old. Much older than Castiel, or even Naomi. Perhaps an angel of his strength and age could heal such impossible wounds.

“Hey, but, uh, maybe don’t mention this to Sam,” Dean requested, with an odd smile. “He doesn’t really know about the angel healing part.”

Cas frowned. “Why would you hide the truth?”

Dean fumbled again. “Well, because, the only angel he trusts is you, and he won’t like the idea of any other God-squad flier touching him. Plus, he doesn’t even know about the hospital and almost dying thing yet.”

Cas stared up at his foolish friend in disbelief. “Why?”

And then, Dean looked scared. “I just… I couldn’t. Cas, I… I almost lost him. Again. Man, I don’t even…” He shuddered.

Cas sighed, awkwardly patting Dean’s arm. He remembered, many years ago, when he had mistakenly suggested to Sam that he and Dean ought to consummate their bond. Of course, Sam’s resulting confusion had made Cas realize that the Winchesters, at that time, hadn’t been quiet aware of their respective feelings. He’d let it slide.

But now, looking up at Dean, his eyes unguarded and vulnerable, Cas realized that the older brother had, perhaps, come to terms with the depth of his love for Sam.

He didn’t say anything, well aware that putting it in words would make Dean put up walls.

“I will not tell him anything,” he promised. “But Dean… You must be honest with him very soon. If Sam finds out you lied, he will be deeply upset.”

Dean nodded, looking a little depressed. “I know.”

Cas nodded. “I shall leave now. Give Sam my regards and tell him I said goodbye.”


	176. Home Is Where The Heart Is - Slumber Party

Sam dragged out the duffel bag from under his bed and started unpacking. Finally. Dorothy’s words had gotten to him, sort of. The open road wasn’t really home to him, but the car was. Even those dark days when he’d been alone, sitting in the Impala had been a comfort. And now… This bunker. Maybe Sam was scared to call it _home_ , but if Dean was here, well…

Clothes went into the wardrobe, neatly folded. At the very back of it, he stuffed an old grey hoodie with the Stanford emblem on it. He never wore it, hating the look of insecurity that always flashed across Dean’s face. Shoes in the corner. The book he was currently reading earmarked on the desk instead of in the library.

He never had liked to decorate the way Dean did, but there was something he wanted to do.

He opened the long wooden box he’d found in one of the storage rooms, thankfully empty of hex bags or cursed objects. From the very bottom of his duffel, he brought out a small collection of items.

The amulet, the one Dean had thrown away and he’d picked up again- that went in first, safely hidden from prying eyes. One day, he’d give it back, maybe. Hopefully. For now, he pretended it didn't hurt his heart a little to see it not on Dean's chest. 

The butterfly knife Dad had given him when he was 12, for practice. It was good for self-defense, but Sam had accidentally cut Dean with it once, a neat one-inch slice on his forearm. To them, it was barely a scratch, but Sam had been terrified for one very long minute and he’d never used it again.

The thin black bracelet Jessica had given him on a whim. Somehow, he’d ended up never taking it off, until the night Lucifer had joined him in bed in her form. Then, it just hadn’t seemed right.

A ring box, with the ring still inside it. Sam stared it for a good few seconds, the simple white-gold band, with a single white stone. He’d planned to propose with it, after the law school interview, had it in the pocket of his sweatshirt when he’d left with Dean, because he knew that Jess, with her tendency to stress clean, would have found it in his drawer in their bedroom. Sam closed the box with a snap, placing it with the other items with reverence.

And last, a photo. Most of their pictures were with Dean, kept safely in a box of his own. This one, Sam had kept for himself. They were a little younger in it, sitting on the couch Sam recognized from Bobby’s place, both of them grinning like idiots and leaning in comfortably to each other, while pointing at the TV. Bobby had clicked it, obviously, in one of his rare sentimental moods. The photo went in the box too.

With a sigh, Sam stood, placed the box on the shelf above the desk, before leaving the room to find Dean. Maybe they could finish the Game Of Thrones season. Sam just didn’t want to say goodnight yet.


	177. Scratch - Dog Dean Afternoon

Dean stared with narrowed eyes as Sam absently petted Colonel's head. They were sitting on the same bed, still working through the files, trying to find where the Stetson guy could be found. Colonel had found his way to Sam’s side and had jumped up. Sam’s hand had found it’s way to the top of his head. It was like all animals gravitated towards Sam. Like Snow friggin White. 

“Man, quit that stupid glare,” Colonel barked lowly. “I ain’t takin your place, you’ve staked your territory pretty clearly.”

Dean really shouldn’t let a dog get to him, but he couldn’t help ask, “What do you mean?”

Sam looked up, immediately interested. “What’s he saying?”

Colonel made a sound that seemed like laughter. “Oh come on, buddy. I can literally smell you all over him.”

Dean actually flushed. “We’re not… It’s not like that.”

Colonel just wagged his tail and nosed into Sam’s hand. Sam laughed. “Boy, you sure love the special treatment, huh?” He cooed.

Dean growled, surprising himself. “Will you stop giving him so much attention?” He demanded. “You’re spoiling him.”

Sam shook his head. “He's a dog, Dean. They all like this.”

Dean almost pointed out that the spell had turned him into a sorta dog, but he wasn't asking to have his ears scratched. Because, he didn't want to. Obviously.

Unfortunately, Sam had a teasing smile. “It’s okay, Dean,” he soothed mockingly. “I haven’t forgotten about you.” He reached out with a hand.

Dean tried to bat him away, but before he could, Sam’s fingers buried in his hair, nails dragged torturously slow across his scalp.

Dean really didn’t mean to, and Sam obviously hadn’t expected it either, but he leaned into Sam’s palm, a happy sigh of pleasure escaping his lips.

They both froze, Sam’s hand still on Dean’s head.

Slowly, Dean moved away. “We are never talking about this again,” he warned, as strictly as he could manage.

To his credit, Sam tried to keep a straight face, but his lips were twitching like he was itching time either laugh or say something. “Of course, not,” he promised solemnly.

Hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt, Dean turned back to research. Sam went back to stroking Colonel’s fur.

After a few minutes of silence, Sam spoke. “Hey, Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m in the mood for some chocolate.”

“Oh, go screw yourself!”


	178. No More Lies - Heaven Can't Wait

Sam put the phone down and sighed, tapping the table restlessly.

Kevin watched him curiously. “I didn’t think you guys worked cases separately that much,” he said, a little inquisitive.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, no, we don’t. But, uh, Dean is still a little careful about the Trials doing a number on me.”

Kevin scrunched up his face in thought. “That was almost three months ago.”

Sam chuckled darkly, remembering how long he’d been out of sorts after Broward County, how much he’d smothered Dean.

“But you think you’re okay, right?” Kevin asked. “I mean, I think you’re okay.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I feel fine.” He hesitated, then frowned thoughtfully. Dean’s usual over-protectiveness meant keeping Sam in his line of sights, not leaving him behind on hunts. So… Why exactly _was_ Sam here? Kevin could handle the research alone just fine.

Was it because Dean wanted to meet Cas? No, but he had said he wasn’t going to. Had he lied? Why would he? And even if he did go to see Cas, why would that have anything to do with Sam not coming along? Hell, Sam wanted to see his friend too.

Sam rubbed at his forehead, trying not to think of what Dean could be hiding from him. Dammit, they’d been doing so good lately. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since he gave up the Trials. Dean had seemed to open up to him more. So… Why was Sam suddenly afraid that Dean was lying about something?

“Sam!”

He startled, found Kevin looking at him with exasperation. “Sorry, what?”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Okay, you know what? Maybe you should just go call him.”

Sam laughed nervously and went to the nearby room, calling Dean. As they talked, Dean revealed that he had ended up meeting Cas after all and, again, Sam wondered whether there was something he didn't know.


	179. Once Upon A Time - Bad Boys

Dean really couldn’t leave well enough alone. “What was your theory?”

Sam turned away from his window to look at him. “About what?”

“Well, you know, when I was gone, Dad told you that I was lost. But come on,” he said, smirking a little. “You were always pretty damn smart. You couldn’t have believed that for longer than two weeks. So what was your theory?”

Sam swallowed. “Honestly?” He asked. “On the worst days, I thought you were dead. But, uh, that never really lasted long. Because…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I would tell myself that if you died, I would know. You know? I’d be able to feel it. Somehow.” He trailed off.

Dean waited patiently.

“Some days I really wondered if you'd overestimated your sense of direction and really had gotten lost,” Sam admitted with the sound of a smile. “But most of the time… I thought you’d left. That you’d just… Had enough and run.”

Dean wondered if, even as a kid, Sam had known him well enough to tell that Dean at that age hadn’t actually enjoyed hunting.

“On those days, it was a toss on whether you’d left because of Dad,” Sam continued softly. “Or because of me.”

Dean stilled, blinked. “What?”

Sam shrugged. “I was smart, not rational,” he muttered.

Dean privately agreed. Sam was too emotional, too trusting, too _Sam_ to be rational.

“Well, I came back,” he muttered, remembering how Sam had latched onto him instantly. Later that night, Dean had cried in bed, under the covers. With Dad dozed off, Sam had crept into his bed, trying to comfort him, trying to understand why he was sad. Dean hadn’t really replied and the twelve year old had settled for hugging him, clinging to him so tightly that Dean couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision to return.

Sam nodded. “I know,” he said softly, and Dean could hear the underlying emotions. Gratitude, love, relief.

Yeah. Dean didn’t regret it.


	180. Doubt - Rock And A Hard Place

Sam stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection, like he could find some sort of visible cue of whatever was wrong with him.

_What’s wrong with you? Your liver… It’s no good._

But there was nothing on his face except the tiredness he’d been feeling since the day before.

_You’re all duct tape and safety pins inside._

Was Dean wrong after all? Was there something wrong with him? Or was it the same old demon blood inside him? He’d thought the Trials had purified him of that, but, he hadn’t completed them, so maybe…

_How are you still alive?_

The animal-eating man, he’d said it too. He’d called Sam different, had looked at him like he wasn’t human, but something more. Or something less.

Sam shook his head, self-deprecating. He really thought he’d been getting better.

In the mirror, he saw Dean’s reflection walk in, concern on his face, and turned around to face him. He looked like he was going to say something and-

Sam’s vision jumped, like a scene change in a movie. He blinked. That had been happening a lot lately. Was there something wrong with his eyes? Or was he losing his mind?

Dean no longer looked concerned, but stricken. Something shone wet in his eyes and Sam felt worry rise in him.

“Dean?” He stepped towards, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Dean wavered, looking up at him. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Sam recoiled. “Dean, I-”

“No!” Dean snapped, emotions twisting his rugged features. “You’re fine. Nothing is the matter with you. It’s the Trials thing and it will heal slowly.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, it’s been months since the Trials.”

Dean hugged him without warning, arms tight around Sam, forcing him to bend down a little.

“Please,” he whispered. “Stop thinking there’s something wrong. Stop suspecting it. Stop _looking_ for it.”

Sam, uncertain and puzzled, rubbed his hand over Dean’s back. He sounded scared, almost panicked. “Dean,” he said calmly. “I’m not looking for it. But if there _is_ something wrong, then we need to know.”

“No, we don’t!” Dean growled, pulling back slightly. “I mean… If something is up, we’ll find out when the time is right. Until then, just because you’re feeling a little down, or just because some pagan god said so, doesn’t mean you go digging for it.”

Sam sighed.

“Sam,” Dean pressed. “Promise me. Promise you won’t try to find something.”

Sam nodded, reluctant.

Dean breathed out in relief. “Good,” he said faintly.

Sam could feel the word on his own lips. It occurred to him that they were maybe standing a little too close.

But Dean didn’t seem to have noticed. Or if he had, he wasn’t saying anything.

Well, hell if Sam was going to move away.


	181. Angelic - Holy Terror

Sam knocked him out, Dean thought, as he regained his bearings. And that meant it wasn’t Sam. It couldn’t be. Even at his angriest, Sam never hit first, supernatural influences notwithstanding.

Dean ran out and his suspicions were confirmed when he found Sam’s hand laid flat on Kevin’s head, lighting his eyes up from the inside.

“No!” Dean screamed, but Sam’s arm moved in a short arc, graceful as a dancer, and pinned him to the wall.

That, Dean thought, was the problem.

Sam’s body was a weapon, forged at the hands of their dad and the life they’d led since childhood.

Where Dean used his skill and body to his advantage, Sam never did. It was like he deliberately held back all the time, slouching slightly, shoulders hunched, limbs loose and non-threatening. Even in a fight, he seemed to hold back, not quite giving as good as he got. It was like he was afraid of himself, of losing control should he ever cut the restraints. And no matter how many times this practice got him hurt, no matter what words Dean spoke to convince him otherwise, it never worked.

But Ezekiel? Or whoever the angel was? He wore Sam’s body like a perfectly fit glove. He moved with all the stiff grace that would be expected from a warrior. From someone who killed, whether he wanted to or not. From someone like Sam.

Except Sam defied those expectations.

And yet, Dean couldn’t help, but call, “Sam!” Hoping beyond hope that his brother would somehow hear him, would break through the possession for Dean like he had once before. 

But maybe a miracle could only happen once, because the angel turned to him with an expression of desperate righteousness. “There is no more Sam.”

For a second, all Dean could think was _no, no, no, please, he can’t be dead, you can’t have killed him, please._

“But I played him convincingly, I thought.”

And how could Dean have been so stupid? How could he not have noticed that his little brother had been replaced by some psycho?

The angel took the tablets, put them in Sam's bag, his face still set in almost beautiful anguish, and walked away.

Dean fell to the floor. Sam was alive, he had to be. The angel couldn’t have fooled him for that long and he knew for a fact that he had last talked to Sam two nights ago.

He was alive. He had to be.

Dean reached for Kevin’s form.


	182. Dream On - Road Trip

“Got anything yet?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up from his research at Dean. “No. We’re still at a dead end.”

Dean leant in close, looking over Sam’s shoulder, one hand landing on the back of his neck. “Well, maybe it’s sub-species of ghoul. Like, how there are different djinn.”

Sam leaned into his side a little. “Maybe,” he agreed.

Dean shook his head, running a hand through Sam’s hair. “You’re pushing yourself,” he said softly. “How about some dinner now?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Dean,” he insisted. “But dinner sounds good right now, yeah.”

Dean gave a small grin, pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips. Sam smiled into it, like they’d been doing this their whole lives, and honestly? He couldn’t quite remember _how_ or _when_ they started doing this. But it didn’t matter, he figured, so long as he could have this and Dean was happy.

He finally pulled away, lightly shoving Dean back. “Dinner. Or we’ll never eat.”

Dean wagged his eyebrows ridiculously, but headed towards the kitchen.

Sam turned back to the research, feeling a headache form. He rubbed at the little pinpricks of pain in his temples, like sharp needles poking at the skin of his forehead.

“But you know, it really doesn’t make sense,” he called out in Dean’s direction, ready to take a break. “Why is the ghoul chomping on dead cheerleaders?”

Dean ignored the comment. “You want a beer?” He asked instead, voice echoing down from the kitchen.

“No, I’m good,” he yelled back.

“Not bad,” someone muttered.

Sam jumped, immediately defensive. He was on his feet in a second, shocked at seeing Crowley standing there.

He called out Dean’s name, but-

“Poughkeepsie.”

An hour later, after kicking both angel and demon out of his head, he watched Dean walk away. He couldn’t muster up any anger, didn’t have the energy for anything other a soul-deep ache.

It hadn’t been real. None of it. Not the dream in the hospital when he’d been in a coma, where the Dean of his subconscious had kissed him in an attempt to get him to live.

Not Gadreel's sandbox, where the angel’s carefully crafted character of Dean had just pecked him on the lips like it was nothing, like they were any ordinary couple.

It had all been wishful thinking, forbidden fantasies. 

But this- the hollow feeling in his chest, the longing, the pull towards Dean as Cas gently led him in the opposite direction- this was real.

And Sam wished he could wake up from it.


	183. Burning Red - First Born

_Sam’s eyes were burning blue, broken wings spouting from his shadow behind him. But when he spoke, his voice was his own, not Gadreel’s._

_“Dean, please,” he begged. “Please. Stop this. Don’t do it.”_

_Dean didn’t move. He simply watched as Sam’s body burnt up from the inside with Grace._

He woke up with Sam’s name on his lips, hands banging against the steering wheel where he’d fallen asleep. The newly attained Mark of Cain on his arm was stinging.

Dean closed his eyes, swallowed. Picking up his phone, his thumb hovered over Sam’s contact. He almost changed his mind. Would Sam even pick up? Then he cursed his weakness and called.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Dean was ready to give up. It was late, after all- Sam was probably asleep.

Then Castiel's voice came through. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean frowned. “Cas? Where’s Sam?” He didn’t believe that Sam would have given his phone to Cas simply to avoid talking to him. He wouldn’t do that, no matter how angry he was.

Cas' voice was steady when he spoke. “He’s resting. I was about to leave to hunt Gadreel, but Sam was weak, so I thought it best if I stayed for some time more.”

Dean felt the usual spike of concern. “Weak? What happened to him?”

This time, there was a second of hesitation. “I healed the remaining damage,” the angel said. “In one go. It left him slightly off-balance. But I made sure he ate and after a good sleep, he should be just fine.”

There was a lump in Dean’s throat that made it hard to swallow. Cas was taking care of Sam, feeding him, making sure he got his rest. He should be grateful. Except it was Dean’s job to look after his brother. But Sam didn’t want him there. And Dean had failed anyway.

The Mark itched with sudden intensity and Dean scratched at it with a scowl.

No, he refused to feel guilty about saving Sam. He simply wouldn’t.

“Alright,” he said instead. “Call me if anything comes up.”

Cas sighed. “Dean, just talk to Sam.”

“No, Cas,” Dean muttered. “There's no point. He wants to hear me say I was wrong to save him. But I'm not. And I ain't gonna lie about it.”

“I think you may have misunderstood Sam's feelings on the matter,” Cas insisted.

Dean shook his head. “Bye, Cas.”

He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear Cas' exasperated “You Winchesters.”

With a sigh, he pressed down on the Mark, trying to soothe the sensation. It just kept burning away on his skin.


	184. Illusion Of Choice - Sharp Teeth

They stopped at a motel that night. Sam turned to Dean, maintaining the calm façade he’d been carrying around him for two days now.

“Take out or diner?” He asked.

Dean shrugged. “It’s your call. You’re the one calling the shots here. Your terms. I don’t have a choice.”

Sam felt his patience snap, finally. “You know what, you’re right!” He snapped. “You _don’t_ have a choice. Just so you finally know what it feels like.” He opened the car door. “Get take out. I’ll check us in.”

Dean nodded. “Sure,” he agreed softly.

Sam stared. Anger boiled up in him, replacing the tiredness he’d been feeling since their separation. He was overcome with the sudden urge to scream, to grab Dean’s shoulders and shake him like a rag doll, to tell him over and over again until he understood how possession felt like drowning in ice-cold water that was actually Grace, how it broke his heart to realize that his brother, the one person who Sam trusted wholly, had been the one to dunk him in that water in the first place. It made him want to punch Dean until he was black and blue and that just made him angrier because he hated starting physical fights but Dean was just… _Not getting it._

Slowly, deliberately, Sam relaxed, loosening the fists he’d made without realizing.

Dean was watching him carefully, almost like he was waiting- hoping- for Sam to lose it.

Sam wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

He got out of the car without a word and refused to look back as Dean drove off.


	185. Sugar, We're Going Down - The Purge

Sam’s hands felt nice as they fussed over him. Too bad it didn’t last long, before they were talking business again. Still, they were close to each other and Sam was wearing a black fitted jacket over his yoga clothes, looking unfairly good, while his behavior remained perfectly distant and professional, which hurt.

Dean hoped he wasn’t staring.

Sam stood, tossing the empty pudding bowl back to him and pocketing the drugs. “Let’s go talk to the Sheriff,” he suggested.

Dean nodded and they turned towards the door, just as they heard voices and footsteps approaching.

Sam’s eyes widened, grabbing Dean’s sleeve. “Now what?!” He hissed.

“You think I know?” Deam demanded. It was okay for him to be found here; he worked in the kitchen and serving line and this was a storage room. But what would the _yoga instructor_ be doing here?

The voices were getting closer. Dean recognized one of them as the guy who’d called him out earlier while he was talking to Sam.

_Hey, new guy! Quit flirting with the trainer and keep scooping._

Dean had a terrible, terrible idea.

He reached for Sam, forcing the zip of his jacket down to reveal the line of his throat and the grey tank top beneath. He reached up a bit, mussing up Sam’s hair as well.

Sam looked confused. “What are you…?”

“Don’t punch me,” Dean warned. Then he yanked Sam down into a kiss.

It couldn’t even be called a _kiss_ , really. Dean crushed his lips against Sam’s with bruising intensity, biting down to leave them red, to leave evidence. Sam’s hands were hovering over Dean shoulders, shocked into stillness.

It lasted for all of five seconds, long enough for his stubble to scrape harshly against Sam’s soft skin. Then the door to the storage room opened and Dean shoved Sam away before he did something stupid. _More_ stupid. 

The newcomers, the guy whose comment had just inspired Dean and some other young blond, stared at them in absolute shock, eyes trailing over their slightly disheveled state.

“Uh, you, uh…” The blind stammered. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

Dean flashed them a winning smile. “Right, of course, sorry, we just, uh, had something we needed to discuss. We’ll be going now,” he assured and tugged Sam out of the room, pretending his heart wasn't beating twice as fast.

Sam fell into step beside him as they hurried down the hallway, completely silent.

Dean sneaked a look at him, trying not to think about the feel of his lips. Sam looked blank, like he was trying to figure out what had happened.

“Sorry about that,” he finally said. “Couldn't think of anything else.”

Sam turned to him. There was an odd look in his eyes, somewhere between anger and defeat. “Yeah, I know. Good thinking.”

Dean hesitated. “So, uh, the sheriff?”

Sam nodded. “Come on, I know where she is.”

Guilt bloomed in Dean's chest. He'd accepted, last year, that his… _Feelings_ … For Sam went beyond platonic. Had he just taken advantage of the situation to get a taste of what he desired?


	186. A Couple Inches Of Wood - Captive

Sam couldn’t sleep. Kevin’s words were running circles around his mind, as well as his own _Same situation, I wouldn’t_ and Dean’s disbelieving expression.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed. In the dead silence of the bunker, he could almost hear his own heart beating.

He stepped quietly, stopping right at Dean’s door. It was closed. He wondered if Dean could sense his presence.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wood. He imagined Dean on the other side, peacefully asleep, or maybe listening to music with his headphones on- unknowing, either way, of just how much Sam ached to go to him.

And he did. Even now, as angry and hurt as he was, he wanted nothing more than to curl up beside Dean.

But… Why did Sam have to be the one to swallow his pride, every time?

Gritting his teeth, Sam stepped away and headed back to his own room.


	187. Empty Chairs - #THINMAN

They dropped Harry at a greyhound station. To Dean’s surprise, Sam followed him out of the car, walking with him towards the bus. Dean watched him say something to Harry, with a supportive hand on his shoulder. Harry nodded stiffly, shook Sam’s hand and, with a half-hearted wave to Dean, stepped into the bus, just in time as the doors closed behind him.

Sam climbed back in, silent.

“Back to the bunker?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t reply, his head bowed as he stared at his lap.

Dean ducked his head, trying to see his expression. “Sam?”

Finally, he looked up. “Before the Trials, after… Amelia and Benny… We made a promise. That we would stick together. That whatever problems we came across, we’d deal with it _together_. That no matter what happened, we’d stay _together_.” His eyes shone, hard as steel, in the low streetlights from outside. “You broke that promise when you tricked me. When you lied to me, _continued_ to lie to me, for months.” He smiled, bleak and without humor. “You let me think I was crazy and a freak instead of telling me the truth.”

“I tried to tell you,” Dean defended vehemently. “Gadreel took over your body and wouldn't let me.”

“And before that? You couldn’t tell me after the hospital immediately?” Sam demanded. “Or, hell, couldn't you just ask me outright, instead of tricking me?”

“I didn't think you would agree,” Dean explained, voice rising in desperation and frustration. “And Gadreel told me that if you didn't like it, you could eject him. And if you did that, you wouldn't survive. So, yeah, Sam, you were dying and I made a judgement call, that turned out bad, sue me!”

Sam stared at him in disbelief. “ _Judgement call_?” He repeated. “Based on _his_ words?” He threw his palms up in amazement. “Dean, I was _ready_ to die. _Death_ was ready to take me. But I changed my mind. Because _you_ asked me to.” His finger pointed at Dean almost threateningly. “I was ready to die to close the Gates of Hell, to finish the Trials. But I stopped, because _you_ _asked me to_. You asked me to choose between you and Amelia and I left her, without a word, for _you_!” This time, he laughed, the sound broken and grating. “After _all_ that, you believe the words of an angel who knew jack about us, telling you that I wouldn’t understand. Nice to know how much faith you have in me.”

Dean’s heart hurt, like Sam’s words were a knife through his chest. “Of course, I have faith in you,” he insisted, voice breaking. “But your heart had started to flat line less than five minutes ago and I was still scared, okay? Scared enough that I would have believed the sky was pink if it meant saving you!”

Sam let out a deep breath, burying his face in his hands.

“And I know you don’t have any reason to believe me,” Dean went on, quieter. “But please believe this: I did try to tell you. More than once. Even before Vesta. I hated every second of lying to you. But every time I tried, Gadreel would… You gotta believe this, Sammy, please, just this.”

Sam looked up, the corners of his mouth trembling. “I wish I could,” he said, sounding bitter. “I want to believe you, trust you, I don’t know how _not_ to. But… But I _can’t_ , because…” He shook his head again, like he was searching for words. “Because even after a month, I’m scared to fall asleep, because I’m afraid that when when I wake up again, I won’t wake up as _me_.” He looked at Dean with tired eyes. “That feeling… That the one person you trusted most in the world has betrayed you… You know how that feels like, Dean. Don’t you?’ He reminded softly. “You’ve rubbed it in my face often enough after all.”

Tears pricked at Dean’s eyes. He looked away from Sam, started the car. “I’m sorry that you think I don’t have any faith in you. And I’m sorry you don’t trust me anymore. I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t trust me either.” He swallowed thickly. “But I ain’t gonna apologize for saving your life. You can be as angry as you like, hate me if that’s how you really feel, but not for a second do I regret you sitting next to me right now, alive and breathing.”

Sam was quiet for a long time, staring out at the shadowy landscape flying past them. “I’m sorry too,” he mumbled.

Dean wondered _What for?_ But he didn’t ask; he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.


	188. My Clarity - Blade Runners

“Hey, let me see those,” Dean said, grabbing for Sam’s shoulder.

Sam didn’t fight his hold, well aware of how delicate Dean was right now and that the wrong gesture or word could break him. “You sure?” He asked gently. “You seem pretty knackered. I could take care of it.”

Dean shook his head, dragging the first aid kit towards himself and hopping up on the table. Sam automatically moved to stand in the V of his legs, hands positioned carefully on Dean’s knees.

Dean inspected the sliced skin of his cheek carefully, eyes dark and hooded, before applying antiseptic.

Sam was careful not to react to the sting. “We could go into town tomorrow,” he suggested softly. “Get the car’s paint job redone.” He hadn’t missed the way Dean had embraced the side of the Impala when they’d found the scratched messages.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I’ll drive out in the morning.”

“I’ll come with.”

Dean didn’t reply, but his eyes softened. “Well, you won’t need stitches,” he muttered, fingers hovering over the cut that Magnus had given him just below his ear, running down his jaw.

Sam sighed. “Small mercies.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean teased, though it was painfully obvious how much of an effort he was having to make. “Chicks dig scars.”

Sam responded with an obligatory roll of his eyes. But as Dean let go of his face, calloused fingers catching against his skin, Sam became serious. “What happened back there, Dean?” He questioned. “With the Blade?”

Dean stiffened, hands momentarily frozen mid air. “I don't know,” he said, turning away.

Sam took a deep breath, hands bunching into fists on Dean's knee, the warmth bleeding through the jeans. “Dean, please,” he requested. “You looked… You looked possessed. Like you weren’t even aware of anything.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t. I was considering killing Crowley, and I was a little distracted until you snapped me out of it.”

He was lying. They both knew it.

“Dean, please-”

“Sam, I don't know and I don't wanna talk about it!” Dean snapped, shoving Sam back. It was a light push, but Sam stumbled back, more out of surprise than anything else, letting go of Dean in the process.

Dean got off the table. “I’m gonna go get some sleep,” he muttered, walking away.

Sam sighed. That night, when he fell asleep, he dreamt of Cain and Abel.


	189. Overhead Charges - Mother's Little Helper

Dean stared at the phone for a long moment. All it would take was the press of a few keys. That’s all. And he’d be able to hear Sam’s voice.

_Be careful_ , he’d said. Dean hadn’t said it back. He’d ended the call as soon as he could and dropped the phone back. Why?

He looked at the nearly empty bottle of scotch. Christ, was he drunk? He needed to sober up before Sam got back. He didn’t think he could handle the mournful puppy eyes and down turned mouth. It would only serve to make him feel more guilty. He’d had enough of that, thank you very much.

Crowley’s presence was grating, but a reluctantly welcome distraction.

_You’re lying to Sam like he’s your wife. Which kind of makes me your mistress._

Funny how Dean no longer felt the temptation to stab Crowley in the neck. And the realization made him a little sick because he knew his ease around the demon had only started after he’d received the Mark.

Dean closed his eyes, running his hand through his hair.

He looked at his phone again. He could call. He _wanted_ to call. But the thought of hearing Sam’s voice made the Mark hiss in protest.

_The Mark comes with a burden. Some would call it a great cost._

What if…?

No. No, he couldn’t think of that, couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Dean took a deep breath and shoved the idea to the back of his mind.


	190. Under Your Skin - Meta Fiction

Gadreel could feel the little bell-like tolling at the back of his head that came from being near a previous vessel. His current body broken and bleeding, he lay on the floor, watching Sam Winchester tend to his brother.

Dean was collapsed against the wall, his own wounds dark crimson in the dim lighting. His eyes were at half-mast, fixed on Sam with sadness. Sadness that Gadreel had put there.

Gadreel was not exactly fond of lying. He considered himself an honorable angel, a good soldier. But in the service of Metatron, he’d been forced to let go of some of his morals. So yes, he had lied. He had lied and told Dean that Sam would let him die instead of saving his life, that he wouldn’t do for Dean what Dean did for Sam.

And Dean- for all his paranoia and suspicions- was surprisingly gullible, if one only knew which buttons to press. Having spent half a year in the body of Dean’s precious brother, Gadreel was more than knowledgeable.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Sam appeared in front of him. There was a blade in his hand, long and silver and gleaming. Gadreel wondered if Sam was going to kill him. It wouldn’t be unreasonable.

But no. Sam hauled him up into a sitting position, dragging him to lean against the wall opposite Dean.

“Can you heal yourself?” He asked, low and cold, more like what one would expect Lucifer’s vessel to sound like.

Gadreel looked down at the puncture wound in his gut, where Dean had jammed a blade and twisted. He shook his head. “No. I'm too weak as for now. So, if you are going to kill me, I implore you be quick about it.” He knew Sam quite well now. The boy didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. To a certain extent, that is. 

But Sam made an odd sound of derision. “I’m not killing you. Not yet.” He dug out a thick scarf from somewhere and pressed it to Gadreel's wound. “Keep pressure on that. Don’t bleed out. We need you alive.”

Perhaps they were going to use him as a hostage. Or imprison him like they had the King of Hell. Either way, he had no wish to die so he did as Sam asked, keeping a tight hold over the scarf. Sam moved away briefly, coming back with a bottle of holy oil and a lighter.

In less than no time, Gadreel was once again trapped in a circle of holy fire.

Sam stood at his full height. Gadreel looked up at him, remembering how it had felt to possess that body- the strength, the power of his damaged yet beautiful soul, the comfort in being able to stretch his Grace out along the nerves and tendons that had been carefully crafted for the Morningstar.

“What did you say to Dean?” He demanded, low and furious. “I know him, he wouldn’t have snapped like that for any little thing. What did you say to him?”

Gadreel tilted his head. “I told him some things about you,” he stated. “Things he didn’t like to hear.”

Sam’s lips thinned, but Gadreel could see the signs of apprehension.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Sam denied.

“I know you want your brother in ways that confuse you, making you feel like an abomination,” Gadreel told him. “I know that no matter what you like to tell yourself, if faced with the prospect of losing him, you will cross unimaginable limits that you set for yourself. I know that you put up a good front for the rest of the world, like you’re more in your right mind than Dean is, when the truth is that there are still days when you wake up not knowing what is real, still times when everything seems too good or too bad and you need to break the skin of your palm to make sure. I-”

“Enough!” Sam snapped, hand clenching in a fist.

The fire crackled. Gadreel wondered if Sam knew that the powers he’d received from Azazel were still locked inside him. 

Sam took a deep breath. “What did you tell Dean?” He asked again.

Gadreel bowed his head, refusing to meet Sam’s gaze. “You can ask him yourself, Sam.” He knew that Dean would lie too.


	191. Fear - Alex Annie Alexis Ann

Sam wasn’t sure when the fear started.

Was it the first time Dean had picked up the First Blade, to kill Sinclair, when he’d looked entranced and refused to drop it? Or just now, when Dean had sliced a vampire’s head off with a relish he’d never shown before, like he was almost enamored with the act of killing?

Even dizzy with blood loss, he knew that expression of greedy lust didn’t belong on Dean’s face, not in the situation they were in, at least.

Whenever it had started, it scared Sam. He remembered what Dean had told him of his encounter with Cain, that the Mark came at a cost.

Cain had killed his brother, had become a ruthless murderer. Dean was headed the same way. Sam didn’t have to be an expert in lore to guess where his place in the story was.

So, yeah, sue him. Sam, for the very first time in his life, was afraid of his brother. And he hated himself for it.


	192. Those Without Love - Bloodlines

Ennis watched Sam watch Dean walk away, phone pressed to his ear. Sam’s eyes tracked his ‘ _brother’s_ ' movements with a careful precision that was unlike anything he’d ever seen before.

However, having lost the love of his life such a brief time ago, he did recognize the pain in Sam’s eyes.

“You guys are going through a real rough patch, huh?” He asked.

Sam hesitated, then nodded. “That obvious?”

Ennis shrugged. “Well, you didn’t have to tell me you were brothers. I mean, I get why you did, but no judgement from me, dude.”

For a second, he thought Sam was going to deny it, would protest, with the way he stiffened and his eyes went wide. Then he abruptly relaxed. “Right. Thanks for that.”

Ennis nodded. “Who knows? Maybe you guys will be okay?” It felt weird, giving advice to a man who looked at least a few years older than him and killed monsters for a living. Wait, did these guys get paid?

Anyway, Sam seemed to appreciate it- despite his tight smile, there was acceptance in his eyes.


	193. Pull Me Back - King Of The Damned

As they got out of the car, Dean rushed towards the door that led out of the garage. But Sam captured his hand in a tight grip. Dean’s first instinct was to snap his wrist. God, what was wrong with him?

“I asked you after Sinclair,” Sam said in a low voice. “You blew me off and I let it go. Not this time. What happened, Dean?”

_Deep breaths_ , Dean thought. Then he scoffed to himself. “I was pissed off at her, Sam. It felt good to get rid of her and, yes, I _may_ have gone a bit overboard, okay? I agree on that, but it happens,now it's over.” Even to his ears, it sounded weak.

Sam stepped around him, coming to face him. He swallowed and Dean wondered if he was feeling nervous. He should.

“Dean, please,” he pleaded.

Dean stared at him. There was an itch in the back of his mind, like something whispering. It had been there since he'd first wielded it against Abaddon. But it was faint now and the longer he held Sam’s gaze, the more it faded.

“Dean?”

He slumped, knees almost buckling. He caught himself before Sam did. His right arm felt limp.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

Sam’s hand twitched, like he wanted to step closer. Or did he want to move away?

“It takes over,” he went on. “The Mark, the Blade… I don’t know.”

Sam sighed. His hand began to slip away and, this time, Dean grasped it back.

Sam raised an eye brow in question.

Dean shrugged. “It helps,” he muttered, thinking of how Sam’s voice had brought him back to his senses. Thinking of how scared he'd sounded when he'd begged Dean to stop. 

Sam smiled faintly. “Silver linings?” He asked.

Dean smiled back tightly.

Eventually, their hands did let go, as they walked back into the bunker. But Dean watched the line of Sam’s shoulders and wondered why he felt like he was running out of time.


	194. Recoil - Stairway To Heaven

“You slept with a gun under your pillow.”

Sam closed his eyes, glad his back was to Dean. He cleared his throat. “We always do.”

“Not in the bunker,” was Dean’s admittedly correct answer.

Sam swallowed, feeling uncertainty rise in himself.

He heard Dean’s chair scraping backwards. “Don’t have to say anything. Forget it.”

By the time, Sam turned around, Dean had already walked out.


	195. On My Knees - Do You Believe In Miracles?

Dying didn’t hurt as much as it had the last time. There were no angry slashes over his chest, just a neat puncture through his stomach, losing blood too fast to have anything done about it, and numbness spreading through him to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Sam was here. He was cupping Dean’s face with one hand, trying to stem the bleeding with the other.

“Get outta here,” Dean tried to tell him. He felt dizzy with love, not pain, and overwhelmed by the need to have Sam right next to him. But he couldn’t- it was too dangerous. “He cou' come back any minute.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“I's b'tter this way,” Dean tried to say, his words slurring. “Mark… I's turning me ‘nto so'thing I don’t wanna be.”

Sam, stubborn to the end, acted like he didn’t hear. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital,” he said in a rush, lifting Dean to his feet, slinging an arm around him. “Or find a spell. You're gonna be okay.”

“What h'ppened to you bein' okay with this?” Dean asked in a groan.

“I lied.”

It made Dean want to laugh. He’d known, in the back of his mind, that Sam had only been lashing out when he’d said he wouldn’t try to save him. But hearing him confirm it, with two little words, it was like Dean’s unspoken dying wish come true.

But his strength failed and he teetered to the side, Sam stumbling with him, helping him rest against some crates. Sam knelt in front of him, so close that Dean could count the specks in his eyes. His vision wasn’t going blurry, but was getting clearer and clearer, which was odd, but Dean could only be glad for it when it was letting him see Sam in HD vision. 

He reached for Sam’s face, needing to feel that warmth, the proof of life. But he’d lost all feeling in his fingers and everything felt cold. “I’m proud of us,” he managed to whisper, wishing he had enough time and strength to wipe the tears from Sam’s eyes.

But his own eyes slipped close and as his body gave up, he collapsed forward. At the edges of his mind, he could still feel Sam’s palms on his cheeks, could smell the sweat and blood and dust covering them both, could hear Sam’s broken sobs, could hear him begging Dean to wake up.

God, Dean loved him so much, so much that it felt like a physical _hurt_ , and he wanted- _needed_ \- to tell him that. But he couldn’t. Not least because he was dying but because the Mark would corrupt him if he were to live.

And he was losing consciousness now anyway. It was out of his hands. He could only hope that Sam would be okay. And he meant it this time. Whatever Sam wanted.

The last thought Dean had was that dying really wasn’t so bad if he got to do it in Sam’s arms.


	196. Paint My Heart - Black

Crowley watched Dean drink and flirt and generally have the time of his life. He considered taking a video and sending it to Sam, but… He was a demon, not a sadist.

Later that night, as Dean got into his car, Crowley asked him, “What are you going to do about your brother?”

Again, there was that split second pause, like he wasn’t sure of how to answer. “Absolutely nothing. He threatened you, not me. He’s your problem now.”

“Oh? So, you don’t mind if I have my way with him?” Crowley smirked. “Or would you like a go at darling Samantha yourself?”

Dean’s eyes flashed black.

Crowley fought the urge to take a step back. 

“I don’t want anything to do with him,” he said, voice low and growling. “And, you… Well.” He gave a smirk of his own. “You just hope he doesn’t find you.”

He turned to get in and Crowley just had to call his name again. “Do you miss him?”

This time, he received a blank look. “What?”

“Your brother. The moose. You don’t want to kill him. You don’t want me anywhere near him. But you also don’t want to meet him?” Crowley shrugged. “Answer the question, best friend. Do you miss him or not?”

Dean smiled, all teeth and no humor. “I’m not your best friend, Crowley. And, no, I don’t miss him. I don’t even think about him.” He got into the car.

Crowley watched him drive away. “Demons lie,” he muttered.


	197. Intolerable Cruelty - Reichenbach

As soon as the car was parked, Sam bounded out to get to Dean’s door. When he opened it, he found Dean sprawled out leisurely in the backseat, knees splayed obscenely, cuffed hands resting on his thighs. He was staring up at Sam, lips curled into a smirk, eyes dark and hooded. It was a look Sam had seen millions of times before, the _follow me and I’ll show you a good time_ look, the one he’d watched Dean give to who knows how many girls in who knows how many bars.

Right now, that look was directed to Sam and it made his stomach tighten in fear and a little bit of anticipation.

“You don’t really think I’m gonna come quietly?” Dean asked, mocking. “You want to take me somewhere, you’ll have to work for it.”

Sam rolled his eyes, putting on the show Dean wanted him to. “I’m too tired for your crap, Dean,” he snapped and hauled Dean out of the car.

Dean didn’t resist; if anything, he nearly fell into Sam, making him plant his feet and grab Dean’s hip so they didn’t fall over. In doing so, he pushed forward the slightest bit and ended up pressing Dean into the side of the car.

Dean barely wavered and Sam wanted to curl up and die because he really was exhausted. He’d barely slept for the last six weeks, had only eaten when Cas called to remind him of his _need for nourishment_ , had a broken shoulder and, to top it all of, he’d just been through a quick torture session from an ex-military. Right now, he was only standing upright out of stubbornness, worry and sheer rage.

“You’re not feeling up to this, are ya?” Dean asked suddenly, making the same observations. “That Cole guy really did a number on you. And you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” His eyes were flickering all over Sam, lingering on his injuries. “Fell apart without big brother around, I see.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Still. Gotta hand it to you. You actually managed to catch up to me in this condition.”

“Shut up,” Sam told him. “Dean, please. Just let me cure you.”

Dean tilted his head, batting his eyelashes ridiculously. “But I don’t wanna, sweetheart,” he said innocently. “Do we really gotta do this? Can’t we play nice?”

Sam scoffed. “ _Nice_?” He repeated, skeptically. “You’re a demon. And you supposedly want to _rip my throat out_. How are we supposed to _play nice_?”

“Like this.”

Dean surged up on his toes, kissed him. Sam stiffened, too shocked to do anything but freeze. It was almost cruel, how gentle it was. For a few seconds, Sam’s brain and common sense went offline and all he could think of was the scent and taste of Dean- _whiskey, cologne, sulphur_ \- as his tongue and teeth sneaked past Sam’s shoddy defenses, making him want to-

_Sulphur_.

When it registered, it brought back memories _(black eyes, blood, power collecting at the top of his spine-)_ and Sam shoved Dean away with fear crawling up his throat. He wouldn’t put it past this bastardized version of his brother to force demon blood into his mouth.

Dean, barely rattled, simply licked his lips thoughtfully and Sam hated himself for tracking the movement.

“You know, you’re really good at that, Sammy,” he mused. “Better than Crowley, at least. Definitely as good as Benny.” He grinned, taking in Sam’s wide expressions. “Oh, that’s right, I never did tell you everything that Benny and I got up to in Purgatory, did I? Crowley, at least, probably gave you a clearer picture of what we’ve been doing.”

Sam could feel himself almost trembling, with anger or betrayal or hurt, he wasn’t sure. _Demons lie_ , he told himself, as he stepped back from Dean, dragging him along towards the dungeon.

Dean kept talking. “You know, I give you crap about having a taste for supernatural creatures, but I think I might have it too. I mean, a vampire, the King of Hell, the angel who tried to blast you into pieces- you’d fit right in on that list, Sammy. What was it they called you? _Boy King_? Or does _Lucifer’s Vessel_ fit better?”

Sam didn’t have to look back to see the meanness etched into Dean’s features, not when he could hear it clear as a bell in his voice. He opened the door to the dungeon as fast as he could with a gimp arm, throwing Dean into the chair inside the Devil’s Trap, painstakingly tying him up so he wouldn’t be able to get free while Sam went to get the blood.

“Either way, Sammy. You’d make an excellent addition to the collection- monsters I’ve banged.”

Sam finally snapped, grabbing the collar of Dean’s shirt and getting up in his face. “That’s enough,” he snarled. “Enough. Shut up.”

Dean smiled up at him, sweet and pure evil. “I warned you, Sam. No mercy.”


	198. Shrivelled Hearts - Soul Survivor

The sixth shot of blood hurt even worse than the last three, which was saying something, because those ones had felt like acid burning through his veins. Yes, Dean knew exactly how that felt. Hell was educational in some regards.

“What if you really do kill me?” He asked, panting. “What if you keep pumping blood into me and it just kills me? What then?”

Sam didn’t answer. He stared at Dean, lips trembling. Dean knew it wasn’t because of grief, but helplessness.

“Just stop, Sammy,” he said. He didn’t say _please_ , but he was thinking it.

Sam swallowed. He rubbed at his eyes, red-rimmed and dark-circled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, voice raspy with tiredness. “Take a breather.” He walked out of the room. 

Dean slumped in his chair. Pain overtook his body and for a few minutes he stayed like that. Unbidden, he thought about the kiss he’d planted on Sam a few hours ago. It had been intended to shake Sam off his game and it had worked, but now, it was also making Dean _want_. The phantom sensation of soft lips and a strong hand at his waist was almost grounding.

Dean groaned, straining at the cuffs around his hands. He’d thought distancing himself from Sam would do away with the desire to be close to him. It hadn’t, only strengthened it. Still, Dean had stayed away. Because Sam was a weakness. Wanting him, even just a part of him, made Dean weak and compromised. Given time, Sam would wear him down and convince him to stop with the killing and then where would Dean be?

_Hmm_. In hindsight, maybe Dean shouldn’t have kissed Sam. Sure, he’d been wanting to do it for years now, subconsciously before he’d realized it, but still. His human desire for Sam had now become an almost pathological need to _own_ him, to _possess_ him, break him and rebuild him until all he knew was _Dean_.

And now, Dean felt just human enough to admit, to himself at least, that he also kind of wanted Sam to want the same thing. And wasn’t that a-

_Wait a second_.

_Human._

_Just human enough._

Sam wasn’t back yet. Dean pulled at the cuffs, straining, gritting his teeth with effort.

They slipped past his hands and he almost cheered. He stood, crossed the Devil’s Trap with just a sting to his skin.

He needed to kill Sam, he decided. If he wanted to be really, truly free of this connection, then Sam needed to be gone. Permanently.


	199. Vulnerability - Paper Moon

It had been three days since they’d left the bunker on vacation. Sam was still hiding the urge to flinch every time Dean called him _Sammy_.

Luckily, Dean hadn’t noticed, otherwise, he’d have had a coronary and Sam wanted to avoid that.

He was also making sure to keep his injured arm between them, putting himself at a hypothetical disadvantage from Dean. It was a sign of trust, because Sam _did_ trust his brother. He just didn’t trust the thing on his arm that turned him into something else.

Despite his best efforts though, he wasn’t ready for Dean’s sudden question.

“When you pulled the knife away, you knew Cas was there already, right?”

“Of course.” It came two seconds too late.

Dean’s face tightened. “Were you just going to let me kill you?” He asked in a small voice.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I guess I would have tried talking to you again? Maybe. I really don’t know.”

Dean shook his head. “God, Sam, why would you… Damn it,” he cursed, turning away, to look out the window of their little cabin.

Sam sighed. He was still tired, still exhausted. He walked to stand beside Dean, letting their shoulders brush.

“How are you even here with me still?” Dean muttered.

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

Dean looked at him like he was crazy. “I was a _demon_ , Sam. For two months.”

Sam tilted his head in consideration. “I was soulless. For a year and a half.”

“That's different,” he protested.

“It really isn’t.”

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Dean slumped. Slowly, he brought his hand up to encircle Sam’s wrist. It felt thin and fragile under his grasp. Dean’s thumb rubbed over the sharp jut of the bone. His eyes tracked over Sam’s body like they’d already done countless times since being cured, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the drastic weight loss. As he took all this in, Dean’s eyes grew darker and darker with regret.

Until they met Sam’s gaze.

“It’s not your fault,” Sam whispered. “None of it. You were a demon. You weren’t in control.”

“I wanted to kill you,” he said miserably. He looked like he wanted to escape, run away, but Sam caught Dean’s hand as well, forcing their gazes to stay locked. “Sammy, I almost…”

“But you didn’t,” Sam insisted. “The rest of it… We’ll fix it. I promise.”

“And if we don’t?” Dean questioned.

Sam shrugged. “Then we don’t. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Just get one thing straight: Whatever you said or did as a demon, I don’t care. It’s all forgiven. All of it.”

“Just like that?” Deam asked, soft and uncertain.

Sam let out a deep breath. “Just like that,” he promised.


	200. Indentation In The Shape Of You - Fan Fiction

They had an unspoken rule in the car: whoever rode shotgun got to look at the driver as long as he liked and the driver couldn’t call him out on it.

Dean wasn’t entirely sure why they had this rule, but they both made use of it.

Right now was one of the rare instances where this wasn’t the case.

Sam wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at his phone, lips pressed tightly as he read something.

Finally Dean sighed, turned the music down. It wasn’t half as fun if Sam wasn’t bitching about the volume. “Dude, what are you looking at?”

“Uh…” Sam actually blushed, the passing streetlights allowing Dean to see the red staining his cheeks. “Fan fiction?”

Dean wanted to hit something. “Why?” He groaned.

“What, I got curious,” Sam defended. “I wanted to know what people call me and Cas. It’s _Sastiel_ , by the way. I was right.”

“Do you want a prize?” He muttered. It was bad enough that the girls thought he and Cas had a thing, which, okay, whatever. But Sam and Cas? That stung a little, because, yeah, Dean could actually see that happening. “Is this your way of telling me you got the hots for our pet angel?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No, don’t be stupid. Even if I did, angels aren’t sexual creatures. Pretty sure. Gabriel was the exception, not the rule.” He hesitated, then eyed Dean with apprehension. “Wait, do you…?”

“No!” Dean said loudly. “Cas is… No supernatural creatures for me, man.”

For a long moment, Sam was quiet. “You sure about that?”

Dean felt guilt settle in. “Sam, that wasn’t true,” he said. “What I said about Crowley and… Benny. None of it was true. You believe that, right?”

Sam was quiet for a few seconds. “Yeah. I mean,” he laughed faintly. “You’ve got better taste than Crowley.”

Dean didn’t call him out on not mentioning Benny. He didn’t think Sam would ever really believe that nothing had happened.

“And what I said about you,” Dean went on. “Man, I don’t… I have no excuse for that. That was a crappy thing to say, but I swear I didn’t really mean any of it. Never would.” He didn’t repeat the titles he’d used as a demon, when his only goal had been to hurt and hurt and hurt. “You’re not… That. _Any_ of that.”

Sam nodded, quick jerking movements like he was trying hard to believe Dean’s words.

Dean took a deep breath. This topic needed to be changed yesterday. “What else you got on that phone?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam smiling slightly, accepting the distraction. “Well, you know those _Sam-slash-Dean_ things?”

Dean felt almost comical dread. “Yeah?”

“Wanna know what it’s called?”

Dean snorted as he pulled into the bunker's garage. “I’m pretty sure I don’t.” A couple heartbeats passed. Dean sighed. “Damn it. What’s it called?”

Sam began to snigger, of all the immature actions in the world. “ _Wincest_.”

Dean stared as the car rolled to a stop. “You can’t… You’re not serious? They- Give me that!” He took the phone from Sam’s hand and began reading, feeling his eyes widen as he scrolled through the page. “Wordplay?” He asked faintly. “They named us with a freaking _wordplay_ on our last name and _incest_?”

Sam just laughed. “Looks like it.”

Dean read down the page, clicked a few links, his eyes getting bigger and bigger as he found mini-stories, long stories, art and everything in between. After several minutes, with Sam waiting patiently next to him, he came to a conclusion. These people were both seriously observant, if they’d picked up on Dean’s feelings just from the books _(which actually didn’t mention anything to do with it)_ , and they were also seriously delusional if they thought Sam returned said feelings.

Then he caught Sam’s eye, watching him like… _Like he never wants to look away_. It only lasted a second, then Sam averted his gaze, still with that wistful little smile that made Dean’s stomach do flip-flops.

He swallowed. Was it… Could it be possible that…

_No_ , he scolded himself. _Don’t even think about it._

He looked back at the phone, reading a few more lines, before handing it back to Sam. “Well, I’ll give ‘em this: they have real skill. And imagination.” Which was putting it lightly, because Dean was kind of trying to figure the practical logistics of that last thing he'd just read. 

They got out of the car at the same time, Dean snagging the prop amulet. He looked at it, small and innocuous in his palm. As gratified as he’d felt when Marie had given it to him, like having the actual thing back, it now felt oddly heavy. Dean knew that that was his guilt, adding to the the weight of the wooden prop. Guilt for ever having thrown away something Sam had given him as a sign of his trust in Dean. And Dean knew that he’d never be able to bear looking at the _Samulet_ for too long, without feeling a coldness on his chest where the real one used to rest.

“Dean?” Sam was looking back at him, something like wariness in his eyes.

Dean weighed the amulet in his hand, before extending it to Sam. “It’ll be safer with you,” he said quietly, trying not to let his voice give anything away. “Please?”

Sam looked at the floor for a long second. When he looked back up at Dean, his expression was blank. “Sure,” he said, just as quietly. He took it quickly, like he was trying not to touch Dean’s skin.

Dean missed the real one more than ever in that moment.


	201. Monsters Under The Bed - Ask Jeeves

With all the stress of looking for Dean when he’d been a demon, then the emotional toll of trying to keep him from killing, the constant worry that only increased every time the Mark was visible, all of which had kept Sam awake for way too long- well, it was only a matter of time before he finally crashed.

So, when he fell asleep the second his head hit the scratchy motel room pillow, barely aware of Dean leaving to get take out, he dreamt.

And everything from the past few weeks twisted horrifically into his subconscious.

_The bunker is awash in red light again. Sam creeps down the hallway, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, Dean’s every taunt and mocking word echoing around him, making his heart jump and stutter like a frightened rabbit. He can even hear the hammer scraping across the wall, threatening and promising pain._

_Sam doesn't quite remember whether he's hunting Dean, or Dean is hunting him._

_He hears a scream, shrill and scared, along with the unmistakable sound of gunfire. He follows it, counting the shots._

_**One**_.

_The hallway seems too long suddenly_.

_**Two and three.**_

_He rounds the corner to see Dean standing over the body of Olivia, the shifter._

_**Four five six.**_

_Dean looks up at him, gun in hand, and smirks._

He woke to someone shaking his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he found Dean hovering over him, concerned.

Sam gasped, pushed him back violently.

Dean didn’t resist, stumbling away from the bed. “Hey, hey, just me,” he assured, throwing his hands up. “You okay?”

Sam swallowed. Could Dean hear how fast his heart was beating? He reached forward, snagging Dean’s hand and pulling him a little closer.

Dean complied out of confusion.

“You’re really okay?” Sam asked, voice thin and shaky. “You don’t feel like…?”

Dean raised an eye brow. “Like gutting someone?” He finished. “No, I feel fine. No unexplainable urges to go on a murder spree.”

Sam stared at him. “You’ll tell me if something changes.” It wasn’t a question or a request.

Dean tilted his head in acceptance.

Sam let him go, trying to relax, trying to breathe easy. Maybe it had been only a trick of the light and his sleep-addled brain, but for a second, when he’d woken up, he could have sworn Dean’s eyes had been the same liquid black they’d been in his dream.


	202. Incitement - Girls, Girls, Girls

If Sam gave in to the urge to clock Dean, could he cite _My brother is being a suicidal idiot_ as grounds for provocation?

If Dean died, Sam would follow. That was clear now. In that regard, if Sam had shot Cole before Dean had told him not to, could he pass it off as self-defense?

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

Sam turned to look at him. “Nothing.”

Dean was looking at him with apprehension, a little bit of wariness. “You look like…”

Sam could very well guess what he looked like right now: back straight and shoulders back, lips thinned and eyes narrowed.

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, but the word _dangerous_ , the word they always pretended didn’t really apply to either of them, hung in the silent air.

Sam shrugged carefully. Punching Dean wouldn't really help anything. But Cole? What if he had shot Dean? With Dean’s own gun. What had Dean thought Sam would do to Cole then? Had he already forgotten about Lester?

Sam shrugged. “Nothing,” he said softly. “Let's go.”


	203. Unwanted Suitors - Hibbing 911

Dean wasn’t entirely sure when the unofficial interrogation had turned into flirting, but there was no mistaking the way the deputy sheriff’s confident smirk as he guided Dean towards a more comfortable sitting area with a hand on his lower back.

Dean fought the urge to squirm. He’d never liked the attention from men. It had decreased since his early teenage years, but he still remembered the way truckers and rednecks at bars would leer at him, the way Dad would keep a tight hand on his shoulder and keep him close as possible, until he grew old enough to defend himself. Heck, even Sam had picked up on it as he’d grown and had made it a point to hover at his back whenever any man got too close to Dean, though, by then, Dean could effortlessly kick any civilian's ass.

It hadn’t happened in years. Not when he actually looked capable of handling himself. And while Dean didn’t entirely enjoy the emotional torture whenever he and Sam were mistaken as a couple, it did beat receiving all that unwanted attention.

But right now, Sam was off somewhere else, this guy was way too interested and Dean was torn between brushing him off quickly and playing along for more information.

Turned out, he didn’t have to decide.

Almost as soon as the deputy let him go for a brief moment, there was another arm slipping around his waist. Warm, heavy and familiar. Dean was leaning into it before his mind registered Sam’s presence.

“Sorry about the delay,” he said with a quick smile. “Deputy, do you have anything else you need to tell us?”

The deputy looked abut miffed. “No, sorry. That’s all, agents.”

“Well, in that case, Agent,” Sam said, turning to Dean. “We need to talk to the next witness.”

“Right.” Dean nodded gladly. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

Sam pulled him away swiftly. He could probably feel people watching them, because his arm stayed exactly where it was, fingers tapping absently on Dean’s hip. Dean really needed to get a handle on himself before he did something stupid like turn his head and kiss Sam on the cheek.

“The hell took you so long?” He hissed.

Sam rolled his eyes, even though he looked down at him in concern. “Donna kept me talking. Came as soon as I saw.”

“Just in time,” Dean muttered. He made the mistake of looking up at Sam. He was really close. Too close.

Sam stared back for a couple seconds, then cleared his throat. “Time to get out of here?” He asked in a rush.

“You read my mind.”

Sam’s arm lingered for a few more seconds before he pulled away and Dean missed the warmth immediately.


	204. Ketchup - The Things We Left Behind

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

They were waiting outside the place where Claire’s friend worked, with Dean inside ordering a meal.

“Is ketchup really a vegetable?” After Dean had confirmed Claire’s statement, it had occurred to Cas that maybe he had better ask Sam too, just in case.

Sure enough, Sam was looking at him with an expression of mild irritation. “Don’t listen to Dean about anything to do with fruits and vegetables, okay? He thinks they’re for hippies and dorks and overall lame people. Ketchup is made primarily of tomatoes, but it’s also got a ton of preservatives and it isn’t good for you.” He paused, thinking about something. “Even if it weren’t, tomatoes aren’t actually vegetables anyway. They’re fruits.”

Cas nodded slowly, leaning against the brick wall. “I see. I suppose I should have known that, in part. I know the angel who created tomatoes,” he explained in answer to Sam’s curious look. “He is responsible for many fruits.”

Sam blinked, then laughed softly.

Cas allowed his worry for Claire to take a backseat for a few minutes and smiled. “It appears Claire shares Dean’s opinion on some food items.”

Sam shook his head, grinning.

“How are you now, Sam?”

Sam looked a little surprised. “Fine. Dean’s been having nightmares, I’m pretty sure. Not that he’s been talking about them. But, uh, I think he’s doing pretty well so far-”

“Sam,” Cas interrupted gently. “How are _you_?” He had already spoken to Dean, had made a promise he didn’t know he could keep; but Sam had been in danger of passing out from exhaustion the last time they’d talked and Cas really wanted to make sure his other best friend was okay.

Sam paused, something stricken passing over his face. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” was all he said.


	205. The Taste Of Regret - The Hunter Games

Sam passed a hand over his face, tired. He could still feel Dean’s cheeks under his palms, the slick slide of blood, the stench of fresh corpses.

Dean, after Cas had taken Metatron away, had shut done completely, stone-faced and brooding. He wore his guilt like a thick blanket and Sam didn’t know what to say or do to make it better.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam looked up from his book. This was the sixth time Dean had apologized since yesterday’s little incident.

“I’m sorry I can’t control it more. Or, you know, at all.”

Sam sighed. “You can’t talk like that. You’ve been doing great for several months now, we were due for a relapse. We just have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Dean finally met his eyes, confusion marring his expression. “I killed five people, _human people_ , in cold blood. And I enjoyed it- at the time. I didn’t even think about stopping. How… _Why_ are you so okay with this?!” He sounded a little frustrated, like he couldn’t fathom why Sam was simply adjusting to it.

Sam thought back to when Dean had been missing, when he’d come so close to crossing the lines he’d set himself, exactly the way Gadreel had told him he would. He’d forgiven all of Dean’s sins as a demon in a heartbeat, hadn’t even stopped to think about it, because he knew how questionable his own actions had been.

With all that in mind, Sam didn’t think it was too far a stretch to forgive whatever slip-ups Dean made now as a human.

“Because you’re my brother,” he finally answered Dean. “Because I’ll forgive anything and everything so long as I have you back at the end of it.”

Dean looked surprised, almost stunned, because they didn’t talk like this that often, never really put words to all the crazy, stupid things they’d do, and had done, for each other.

But it was true. If keeping Dean alive and with him, meant Sam had to accept a few darker tendencies in his brother, then so be it. He didn’t pause to think about whether that made him a monster too. He didn’t particularly care. After all, why would _he_ choose to remain humane if his brother did not?


	206. Family - There's No Place Like Home

The ride to the hospital was unclear in her mind, too overcome by pain and tears to pay attention. She remembered being cocooned in Sam’s arms in the backseat, the silhouette of Dean behind the wheel, a voice saying, “Only family allowed inside, sir,” and another voice replying, “That’s my sister, Charlie, I’m Sam, please let me see her.” Then there was blankness.

When she did wake, the world was swaying around her, her body swinging softly, like someone carrying her. Sam’s voice rang clear. “You’re in the bunker, Charlie. You’re a little banged up and your arm is broken, but you’ll heal soon, and you’ve got the good drugs. I don’t know if you can hear me, but listen: whatever pain you’re feeling right now is all psychic, your mind trying to accommodate two sets of memories. A couple days of sleep and you’ll be fine. So, just rest, alright, Your Highness?”

More blankness, but this time it was interspersed by the screeching of monkeys, the flapping of a million pairs of wings, Dorothy’s voice calling her name. These memories weren’t really hers, but at the same time, they were.

Dean’s voice was there too, clearer than the rest. “Sam, what do I do?”

Charlie must have made a sound or a movement, because the voices lowered.

“Look, I told her about the Mark. But she’s in a lot of pain right now and I think she’ll need some time before she’s ready to see you, Dean.”

Her head ached, like someone had driven a sledgehammer through it. She felt conscious, but trapped, her body unwilling or unable to respond to her.

Sam’s voice filtered through the haze near constantly.

“ _When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton…_ ”

Charlie could almost feel the familiar words settle over her like a balm, sometimes accompanied by a rough palm gently stroking her hair.

“ _Hermione pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered..._ ”

His voice was raspy, from when the wizard of Oz had choked him with his magic, and Charlie wanted to tell him to stop and take care of himself, but she couldn’t even move her lips.

“ _At Winterfell they had called her ‘Arya Horseface' and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but that was before the orphan boy Lommy Greenhands had named her ‘Lumpyhead.’"_

There was a rare moment of clarity when Sam’s presence had been replaced by a shadowy figure at the door and a whispered, “I'm so sorry, kiddo.” It was gone before she could be sure.

Sometimes, Sam simply talked to her.

“You know, one time, when we were kids, Dean and I tried to cook dinner for Christmas before Dad came home. It involved too much cheese and a lot of accidental fires and…”

At some point, she almost felt like crying, the sounds of heavy objects banging and clashing violently feeling like needles stabbing her eyes and ears.

Again, there was Sam’s voice, hushed and upset and concerned all at once. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault, please… Look, the noise is really hurting Charlie… Trashing the kitchen isn’t an option, no… Hey, no, close your eyes, Charlie, it’s all okay, I’ve got it… No, she’s not fully conscious, but soon I think… Yeah, if you could make something for her to eat when she wakes up? Something light… Thanks, Dean.”

When she finally woke up properly, she found Sam at her bedside, nose buried in a lore book. He sensed her movement and smiled wanly at her. “Water? Soup? Or something more substantial?” He asked. “I won't make it, Dean will, so I can promise it’ll taste great.”

He helped her get to her feet, excused himself to get her food while she limped to the shower room and changed her clothes.

Now that she was awake, she could think. About Dean and his snap of control. About Sam and how he'd stayed by her side the whole time. About the Mark of Cain and what it was doing to both brothers.

With Dark Charlie’s voice locked away in her mind, it was easy to forgive Dean, easy to realize why Sam had understood what she went through.

She left with a smile and a heavy heart, unable to forget what she'd told Sam before leaving.

“It's great that you’re taking care of Dean, it is. But you gotta watch your own back, Sam. Because if Dean hurts you, it'll kill him.”

Charlie prayed to whoever was listening that she wouldn't one day meet only one of the boys and not the other.


	207. Crush - About A Boy

In Dean’s opinion, Sam was having way too much fun at his expense.

“Taylor Swift, huh? Want to watch High School Musical later? It’s not like you don’t watch Disney Channel anyway.”

“Shut up,” Dean groaned, covering his ears with his hands. The complete absence of stubble was throwing him for a loop.

“Well, good thing is, you already have tons of practice at being the shortest one in the family.”

Dean actually punched Sam at that, getting him in the ribs. Sam just laughed, a hand over his side. “What? It’s true! I mean, that lady at the motel thought you were my son.”

Dean made a face at that. “God, no,” he muttered fervently.

Sam just shook his head in amusement as he drove. Dean rubbed the bare skin of his arm, over the place where the Mark used to be. The constant itch was gone, replaced by a sense of calm that he’d forgotten what felt like.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice they’d reached until Sam was already out of the car and opening Dean’s door too.

“Come on, short stack,” he said completely straight-faced.

Dean scowled and Sam smirked smugly. With Dean just clearing five feet, Sam looked even taller and right now, with his lips curled up in a way that was so rare nowadays, his eyes bright with mirth… Well, Dean’s mouth felt a little too dry and his chest too light and airy. It was like being an actual teenager and crushing on a teacher or something.

It was messed up, was the point, and Dean really didn’t want to think about it, not in his current predicament.

Thankfully, Sam didn’t notice his admittedly superficial distress and turned away. Dean took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the sudden desire that was making him light-headed, before following his brother.

Well, at least, one of them was seeing the humor in the situation.


	208. Appropriate - Halt And Catch Fire

“Okay, what’s going on?” Sam finally asked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m going out. Getting a drink. Maybe go home with someone. Lay on her bed and-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that!” Sam exclaimed hastily, throwing his hands up. “Don’t need details. What I mean is, you’ve been hooking up more often. And… Look, I’m not accusing you of anything, but…”

Dean waited. “But what?”

Sam sighed. “Dean, last week, you were checking out college girls. Tell me that isn’t creepy and just plain wrong.”

Dean stood still, body still turned towards the door, like he was planning an escape. But he didn’t run. “I know it was,” he said quietly. “But, honestly, Sam? It helps. It… Sex, you know? It helps. Keeps the Mark quiet.”

Sam squinted in thought. “Getting laid keeps the Mark quiet?” He considered it. “That… Does make sense. Sex and violence- two sides of the same coin, yin and yang kinda thing?”

Dean shrugged. “The college thing- that was me being stupid. I thought, I don’t know, maybe if I put on a show, just go through the motions, maybe it’ll help, you know? Maybe I wouldn’t have to go out every other night.” He sighed. “Didn’t work. Obviously. And you’re getting freaked instead.”

Sam didn’t refute it, too busy trying to come up with an alternative. “I just… What if the signals get mixed?” He asked gently. “What if, whoever you hook up with, says one wrong word, does something that sets you off, and you’re already in the heat of the moment and…?”

“And I hurt her?” Dean finished. He looked pale suddenly and Sam regretted opening his mouth. “Yeah, I… Didn’t think of that.” He walked towards his bed, sitting down across from Sam. “What do I do, Sam?” He asked miserably. “I can’t just stay cooped up like this. That really doesn’t help.”

For a second, Sam entertained a really bad idea. Dean said having sex helped? Well, Sam could…

_No, bad idea_ , he scolded himself. And it was. It was stupid. Dean would put him in a Devil’s Trap for even bringing it up. And even if he didn’t… Sam couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of Dean’s situation like that. He couldn’t.

“Sammy?” Dean’s warm hand on his knee shook him to awareness and Sam blinked to find wide green eyes peering with concern.

“Nothing,” he managed to say. Sometimes, he really wished Dean would just stop looking at him like _that_ \- it gave Sam ideas that had no business existing in his head. “Nothing. Just… Let’s go out. Catch a flick. We haven’t been out for fun in a long time.”

Dean’s sudden pleased smile caught him off-guard and he stumbled over his last few words. _It’s nothing_ , he told himself.


	209. Brother's Blood - The Executioner's Song

“What do you mean, Sam?” Cas questioned, frantic. “Why is Dean in trouble?”

Sam stood, gesturing him to follow. “Let’s take a drive.” He shot off a text, presumably to Dean. “Come on.”

Cas followed him. They drove out into the night, the silence around them fraught with tension.

Sam stopped the car a few miles from the bunker. By the time they’d reached, Sam had told Cas everything that Dean had told him that Cain had told him.

“So, you’re suggesting… What are you suggesting?” Cas asked.

Sam sighed, folding and unfolding his hands around the steering wheel. “Cain said that my death would be Dean’s final straw,” he spoke slowly and carefully. “But what he was looking at it wrong? I mean, he got the Mark by killing his brother. So, if Dean’s story is going in reverse…”

Cas felt fear trickle down his throat like the slippery molecules of water. “Sam, what?”

Sam turned to him. “What if my death can remove the Mark? What if, by getting what the Mark wants most, its effect is negated?” He took a deep breath, blinking fast. “What if killing me can save Dean?”

Cas lost his breath.


	210. Desire - The Things They Carried

Dean should have known better than to get drunk. He’d been doing so well too. Or, at least, marginally better.

But the thing with Cole and Kit, his talk with Sam- he couldn’t stand and face his brother’s guilt or hovering right now. He couldn’t. It was like seeing a shadow of 12 year old Sam, who’d watched a man die at the hands of aghoul and then cried himself to sleep because he’d been too scared to pull the trigger in time.

So, yeah, Dean got drunk. And he was itching for a fight. Or a good lay. He wasn’t picky. Screw consequences, just for tonight. With the Mark screaming for blood ever since killing Cain, he considered it lucky he wasn’t going on a rampage.

But despite all that, Sam’s concerned face flashed through his mind and Dean couldn’t bring himself to do anything more. He flirted half-heartedly _(had her eating out of the palm of his hand)_ , eyed the men at the pool table _(he could take them)_ and then he huffed to himself, walking out of the bar with anger curling bitterly under his tongue. Damn his brother and his dogged determination to save Dean.

_Seriously_.

In hindsight, maybe Dean _should_ have gotten laid or into a fight before arriving at the bunker. As it was, with the Mark’s emotions swirling inside him, insatiable and eager, his first thought at seeing Sam asleep at the war table was _be easy to stab the back of his neck like that._

He felt his hand tremble even as he took a physical step away. What was he _doing_? What was he _thinking_?

Sam, hunter's instincts alerting him to observation, woke up under his stare, looking up at Dean with slightly tired eyes. “You’re back,” he observed, a faint note of disapproval in his tone. “Struck out? Or came to your senses?”

Dean didn’t answer. Sam sighed and stood, started clearing away his research. Dean watched him, swaying lightly on the spot, tracking the soft yellow light on Sam’s hair, the play of his back muscles under the flannel. He stepped closer now, unable to stand the distance. Sam either didn’t hear him approach or ignored him, but either way, he didn’t turn until Dean was right behind him, and the carelessness grated. He reached up, placing his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades.

Sam sighed, turning around, held between Dean’s body and the table. Effectively trapped, but he didn’t think Sam saw it that way.

“What are you doing, Dean?” He asked, sadly.

Dean swallowed. That tone, of disappointment and grief, was the reason Dean couldn’t get the fix he needed. And he could live without them, for a while. But that was it: _for a while_. He _couldn’t_ live with Sam refusing to accept that, one day, sooner rather than later, Dean would snap. And he had to make Sam see that.

He moved his hand up to the side of Sam’s neck, cupping his carotid artery. Sam still didn’t react, utterly trusting as he held Dean’s stare.

“Do you know how easy it would be?” Dean asked. “I’ve got a knife inside my jacket right now. By the time, you get your gun out, I can have you bleeding on the floor.” His words were slurring badly, but Sam seemed to understand him just fine.

“But you’re not going to,” he said firmly. “You’re fighting it. And I’m trying to save you.”

Dean growled, leaning in closer. “You don’t get it!” He snarled. “You don’t know what it wants me to do to you.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he could almost hear a voice whispering in the back of his mind. _Do it, take him. He’s yours. Prove it to the world. Show him who he belongs to. And then, finish him. Spill his blood over this earth and punish him for what he’s put you through all your life. He’s a burden and he’s yours. Claim him and get rid of him. You’ll be free. Free of him and…_

He wasn’t aware of leaning in, or pulling Sam down, but their foreheads were resting together. Dean felt like he was a live wire, electricity buzzing under his skin. He was shaking with need- need to do _what_ , he wasn’t sure.

Drag Sam closer and have his way with him right here?

Or make do on his threat from so many months ago and rip his throat out?

Both would be easy, from this angle.

Sam’s fingers were suddenly trailing across his jaw. “Dean?” His voice sounded wrecked. “I’m getting some real mixed signals right now. Are you trying to scare me or…?”

Dean realized their lips were only inches apart. “I don’t know.”

Sam took a deep breath. His eyes were almost crossed, trying to keep Dean in focus. “If it’s… The other thing,” he whispered. “I’d let you. Whatever helps… I’ll do it.”

It sounded like he was begging and the Mark liked it. Dean tried to quiet it, tried to think through the haze of whiskey. “Even…” The words stuck in his throat, too ugly and too implicative to be spoken out loud. Doing so would mean giving up a secret Dean had tried to keep for years now.

But Sam was nodding in quick little movements, eyes wide. “Even that.”

And it was the breathiness of his voice that struck Dean, made him see that the expression Sam was wearing right now wasn’t just desperation or helplessness, but also lust and need and love.

The epiphany was like being on a rollercoaster. For one shining moment, Dean was on top of the world because _Sam wanted him too._

And then it was like the ground beneath him disappeared, because Sam wasn’t _supposed_ to feel like this. Sam _wasn’t_ supposed to return his feelings, not _now_. Not when Dean was constantly one step away from being a monster. Sam wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near him. If Dean were a better man, he’d be running far, far away from his brother, so he would remain safe. But Dean _wasn’t_ a better man and Sam was too stubborn to know what was good for him. The least Dean could do was prevent this messed up culmination of their lives from coming to fruition.

With the Mark drowned under the onslaught of emotions, Dean broke their half-embrace, moving away from Sam. Sam’s hands hovered in the air for a moment, then dropped.

“No,” Dean said briskly, thinking through the blanket of alcohol. “No, I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m just trying to make you see that I probably will. One day. You have to be ready to do whatever you need to protect yourself when that time comes.”

He didn’t stop to see the hurt flash across Sam’s face and walked away instead.


	211. Awaiting Judgement - Paint It Black

Sam would have gone to the confession too, if he thought the Father could help him. He couldn't. So Sam didn't.

What would he have said anyway?

_Forgive me, Father, because I am in love with my brother._

_Forgive me, Father, for I have impure thoughts about my brother._

_Forgive me, Father, because I'm genuinely considering taking over Hell just so I can help my brother._

_Forgive me, Father, because I've already ended the world once, but would do it again if I thought it would save my brother._

Yeah, right. Sam could barely admit these things to himself, let alone a stranger.

Beside him, Dean had fallen into an uneasy sleep, head resting against the window as Sam drove.

Sam was tempted to pull over for a few minutes, just so he could watch him.

He still wasn’t sure what had happened two nights ago. Dean had gone out drinking, come back utterly wasted, trapped Sam against the table, threatened to kiss him and kill him in the same breath, then when Sam actually worked up the courage to let Dean know he was down for the former of the two options, if only casually, Dean had backed off.

Sam didn’t want to think about why Dean hadn’t taken him up on that offer. What if he’d seen something in Sam’s eyes, heard something in his voice, something that had tipped him off to Sam wanting more than a casual lay?

Was that it? Yeah, that had to be it.

Or worse, what if it was the idea of _Sam_ that was completely unfathomable to Dean, maybe even repulsive? After all, being in love with your brother wasn’t exactly _right_.

But no, that couldn’t be it. Sam had seen Dean with women, knew exactly how he looked at them. He’d looked at Sam in a very similar way that night. And it wasn’t as if they didn’t break society’s rules every single day, didn’t erase and redraw their moral limits every so often. 

So, no, it had to be that Dean had gotten wind of Sam’s deeper desires and decided it was better to let him down easy than lead him on or use him to satisfy the Mark. Yeah. That was it.

The thought had his breath coming short, bringing forth all his insecurities.

_Stop it_ , he told himself sternly. This was about Dean. All about Dean, not Sam. Not now.

He could live with unrequited feelings, he _couldn’t_ live with his brother dead or gone. So, Sam had to focus on getting rid of the Mark, not on his love life.

Maybe he should take a page out of Dean’s book and hook up more often.

Hell, they’d probably be stopping at a motel for now. He probably could excuse himself to go to a bar while Dean slept and…

“Sammy, you mind telling me why you're driving like an old lady?”

Sam nearly jumped.

Dean was staring at him through bleary eyes, scratching idly at his neck and yawning. “Jesus, what’s got you so jumpy?”

“Nothing,” he managed to say. “Sorry. Was just thinking. Go back to sleep.”

Dean grunted, patting Sam’s thigh in support. “Don’t think so much. Your brains will fall out.”

Sam chuckled softly. “I’m not ten, Dean.”

Dean sighed, looking at him fondly, drowsiness having lowered all his defenses. “I know. Be easier for me if you were. Then again, wouldn’t really have you any other way now.” The words were said quietly, almost a mumble.

When Sam looked at him curiously to ask what he meant, he was already asleep again.

Sam sighed and turned back to the road. Who was he kidding? Hooking up wasn’t going to help him get over the man sitting beside him.


	212. Sweet Dreams - The Inside Man

Dean woke slowly, mostly surprised that he’d actually slept through the whole night instead of waking up at 4 AM screaming Sam’s name, like he had the last ten nights. As he started to shift, it became obvious why. 

Sam was sitting in a chair beside his bed, nearly bent over in half so his head was on the mattress and his hand was resting on Dean’s stomach.

Dean stared at him, afraid to even sit up in case he woke Sam. There was a weird lump in his throat.

Sam stirred, once again subconsciously sensing his stare. He jolted, sitting up quickly and taking his hand away. Dean found himself holding back a smile at his terrible bed hair and slow-blinking eyes. Then he noticed the reappearing dark circles. And guilt came rushing back in, because Dean didn’t have to guess how often Sam had been woken because of his nightmares.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” He asked with a sigh.

Sam yawned. “Making sure we both slept through the night.”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from Sam. He looked... Soft. It made his heart hurt.

“What?” Sam asked, suddenly self-conscious, straightening and seeming a bit more awake. He peered at Dean suspiciously. “What is it?”

He wasn’t even trying to make Dean talk and Dean could kiss him for that. Especially now that he knew Sam would kiss back. Except that was exactly why he couldn’t. Jeez, talk about a Catch-22.

“Nothing,” he said casually. “Your hair looks ridiculous. Either cut it short or grow it out.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well, looks like you’re feeling better,” he grumbled.

Dean shrugged. “Hey, uh…” He hesitated. “Why’d you take the chair? You could have just…” He gestured vaguely at the bed. “It’s not like we don’t share when we need it. And that can't have been comfortable.”

The look Sam gave him was somewhere between exasperated and reproachful. “I wasn’t sure that you would want me… That you’d want me that close.”

Dean couldn’t ignore the little pause. As if he could ever not want Sam. The concept itself was ridiculous. “Of course, I want you here.”

Sam smiled tightly. “Good to know… I just didn’t want to assume, because last time I did that, I was completely wrong.”

Dean felt stuck. “Sam,” he said through grit teeth. “That night, that wasn’t… I was going to hurt you.”

Sam gave him a classic bitch face: _Don’t treat me like an idiot, Dean_. “Maybe, but you also looked like you wanted to… Kiss me. And like I said, I would have let you. Especially if it would have helped even a little.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Dean told him.

“I wanted to!”

“And that’s why I can’t!”

Sam froze, staring at him. “What… Does that mean?”

Dean stared back, also frozen.

Sam swallowed. “Dean? Do you… Want-”

“I can't,” Dean cut in, because he couldn't let Sam finish that sentence, couldn't let him realize just how much Dean wanted him. _Just him._

Except the way Sam was looking at him right now, awe and shock and gratitude, it seemed he'd already figured it out.

“Dean,” Sam started softly.

“No!” Dean protested loudly. “No, please. I… I can't. Not when… When I can't…” He looked down at the Mark. “I can't,” he repeated, feeling like a broken record.

For some time, there was no answer.

“Okay.”

Dean looked up, found Sam glaring with determination burning brighter in his eyes.

“Okay. One more, really excellent reason to get that thing off you,” Sam went on, getting to his feet. “Just try and stop me,” he muttered and walked out of the room without looking back.


	213. Road To Hell - Book Of The Damned

It was like a dream, Sam reflected.

The bunker's lights had been dimmed, Charlie had her feet propped up on Dean’s lap, talking animatedly about Oz, while Dean and Cas listened with drunken attention, the angel tucked into the opposite end of the couch.

Sam watched from the armchair, only lightly buzzed, more content to watch Dean smile and laugh like there was nothing wrong with the world. Like Sam hadn’t just lied to him again. Was about to continue doing so.

How much of a hypocrite did it make him? Sam wondered. That he was going behind Dean’s back and planning some very questionable method to save him, something that would undoubtedly lead to havoc.

Sam really didn’t care about that. He couldn’t. Not when the end result would be Dean. Dean, as he truly was.

Sometimes, Sam thought he was more similar to the soulless version of himself than Dean liked to think so. After all, here he was, planning to use dark magic and thinking of contacting a centuries old witch for help, all because he wanted his brother.

And yet, there was never any other option. Not for Sam.


	214. History Repeats - The Werther Project

Dean carefully bandaged Sam’s hands again. His brother was leaning against the wall, pretty much unconscious. His wrists were pale and bloody and Dean could already tell that he would have to ask Cas to check for damaged tendons or veins.

When he finished with the bandages, he used the handkerchief from Sam’s pocket to wipe off their prints from everywhere and stuffed the bloody one into his jeans again. Then he took Sam’s hands in his own. They felt clammy, fragile, and the pulse was just a flutter.

Dean touched Sam’s cheek, his own hand shaking. “Hey, wake up, buddy, come on. Sammy?”

Sam stirred, bleary eyes focusing on him with effort. “De. ‘M sorry. Needed blood.”

Dean closed his eyes. Sam’s voice, the tone, the plea in his words; it was all too similar to the last time he’d nearly killed himself. _(“Other people will die if I don’t finish this…” “Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your brother…”)_ And for what? To save the world? To save Dean? To prove himself? 

“Yeah, well, you did it,” he assured Sam hoarsely. “Box is open. Curse broken. Just have to get rid of this whole damn thing.”

Sam hummed, trying to sit up straighter. He only succeeded in toppling into Dean, who caught him easily, gently easing him back.

“Easy, Bigfoot. Take a few minutes and then we’ll get out of here.”

Sam seemed to smile at him, eyes more focused now. “Thanks. For savin' me.”

Dean didn’t reply, just kept watching Sam, holding his hand and counting his pulse.

The stench of blood was all around them, mingled with flowers for the spell Sam had used.

If Dean got distracted, then the Mark was whispering again, telling him to take advantage of Sam’s weakness and finish the job.

But as long as he had Sam’s pulse beating under his thumb, it kept him sane.


	215. Next Gen - Angel Heart

They stayed with Claire for a few days, booking another room nearby, while Cas did… Whatever he did instead of sleeping.

On the last night, when Sam was trying to think of an excuse so he could check in with Rowena, there was a knock at the door.

He opened it cautiously, hoping it wasn’t a problem so Dean could continue to sleep.

“You always open the door with a gun?” Claire asked, standing in front of him with a poker face.

Sam didn’t grace that with an answer, tucked his gun away. “What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Saw your light was on.”

Sam waited.

She didn’t speak, looking awkward and fidgety.

“You want a beer?”

Claire looked surprised. “I'm not twenty-one.”

Sam snorted. “You spent almost an entire evening with Dean, I don't believe he didn't start drinking and I don't believe that you didn't ask him for one too. And it wouldn't have been your first one either.”

He considered it a win when the teenager smiled a little smugly. Anyway, after the birthday she'd had, she deserved a drink.

They went into her room, Sam leaving a note for Dean in case he woke.

After a few minutes of utter silence, Claire spoke. “When you met your mom, what was it like?”

Sam took a long swallow, then set the bottle on the table. “It was amazing. Unbelievable. And terrifying because there was an angel trying to kill her and my dad.”

Claire watched him curiously from her spot on the bed.

“I mean, I used to dream, that, if I ever saw her, then I’d tell her… So many things.” He paused, smiling at the fantasies he’d had as a child, when Mary Winchester had a been a mythical figure in Dean and Dad’s stories. “Tell her I loved her. That I missed her, even though I never knew her. That I got great grades and I'd been in love and I was a good hunter and... That I hoped she was proud of me.”

“So what happened?” Claire asked.

Sam shrugged. “I never got the chance. We were so busy trying to save everyone that… I never got to tell her any of it. And even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered because once we said our goodbyes, another angel erased her memories of meeting us.”

Claire breathed out slowly. “I’m sorry. That… That sucks.”

“Yeah.” He watched her closely. “I’m sorry too.”

She nodded, blinking fast. “I hadn’t seen her in years. And I only got a few minutes with her.”

Sam looked at her, unsure of what to say. Dean was better with her. And all other kids. “Cas said she’s in heaven with your dad,” be offered softly. “And… I know it doesn’t seem like much…”

Claire shook her head, recovering fast. “No, but it is. It’s good. Good for her, for both of them. I just wish they were here with me too.”

“I know what that’s like,” Sam agreed, remembering when he’d thought Dean was in heaven and had hated himself for wanting him back.

They sat in silence again, drinking quietly. Sam looked around the room. His eyes fell on the stuffed toy Cas had gifted her. He knew Dean had taken the revolver back.

“I don’t have a present for you,” he began. “But if you want, I could teach you a few more tricks.” He nodded at the laptop. “Fake credit cards. Fake insurance. Hacking local databases.”

Claire actually looked a little excited again. “Yeah! Definitely, show me," she agreed, maybe a little too enthusiastic as she sniffled and rubbed her eyes a bit. 

Overall, Sam considered it was a good way to spend his time. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the translation of the codex, that was all Rowena now. He might as well do something he could actually succeed at, like teaching a kid how to survive.


	216. Poisonous - Dark Dynasty

“Charlie loves you, Dean! We all love you!”

Right now, that love was rushing through Dean’s veins and it felt like acid, like fire, like poison scorching his insides. The Mark was loud, louder than it had been in weeks and as he drove like a maniac to get to Charlie, it was all he could do to stay his hand and not throttle Sam right there.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was firm, but uncertain, when Dean didn’t answer.

_Kill him! Kill him now! Punish him! Make him suffer! He’s going to get Charlie killed! He got your mom killed too! He broke your dad’s heart! He left YOU behind! FINISH HIM!_

“If anything happens to her, Sam,” Dean snarled, his voice trembling with rage and bloodlust. “Anything at all…” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t voice the threat.

But Sam stayed quiet and Dean thought he understood anyway.


	217. Voicemail - The Prisoner

Sam rushed back to the bunker, only to find Cas struggling to heal himself and the library floor covered in blood.

Cas looked up at him with a battered face. “I cleared away the bodies first,” he said weakly. “I’m not sure where I sent them, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Sam dropped to his knees, wounding an arm around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. “It’s okay,” he assured. “I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to come here alone.” Lately, he reflected, all he did was get people hurt. He kept justifying it as worth saving Dean, but… He wasn’t doing very well at that either.

Cas shot him a grave look. “You couldn’t have known Dean would be this far astray.”

“Yes, I did,” Sam corrected. “And even if I didn’t, after what he said to me…” _I think it should be you up there, not her._ “I should have known.”

“Sam-”

“Go to my room,” Sam instructed. “Get cleaned up, heal, rest.”

“What are you going to do?”

Sam sighed, looking around at the mess of the library. He had a sudden urge to clean everything. Dean especially, for all his messy habits, hated blood and guts and, in his own words, _‘other bodily fluids’._

But Dean wasn't here. So cleaning would have to wait.

“I'm gonna make some witch-killing bullets,” he said, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Just in case, Rowena tries to play us.”

Cas visibly hesitated. “Alright,” he gave in. “I'll join you as soon as I can.”

Sam waited until he was out of earshot. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed Dean’s number for the eighth time. It went to voicemail, just like the last seven.

“Dean, please,” Sam said quietly, in a barely audible voice. “I know you’re pissed. I know you probably hate me. I know you want me dead. But we can still fix this. Rowena has the spell we need. We can get the Mark off you and then…” He paused, swallowed thickly. “If you still feel the same way afterwards,” he went on, even softer. “Then that’s okay. I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll do whatever you want me to. But just let me cure you first, Dean, please, just… Just come back home.”


	218. Repentance - Brother's Keeper

The Darkness washed over the car with the force of a tidal wave and Dean did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed Sam, hauling him close and pressing them together. He lost all vision a second later, everything pitch black, but Sam’s hands found him easily, one spanning the side of his neck, the other clutching his waist.

He couldn’t hear anything either, like someone had placed thick wool over his ears. So he tucked his face into Sam’s neck, feeling his pulse beat under his lips.

He could smell the blood though. And when he reached up to hold Sam’s face, he could feel the slick liquid and the abrasions and swelling.

With the Mark gone, the horror of what he’d nearly done hit him. He’d almost killed Sam. _Sam!_ His brother. His _everything_. And he would have done it too. He would have gone through with it, would have swung that scythe clean across Sam’s delicate neck.

But he hadn’t. Because Sam had forgiven him, granted him salvation with a simple nod and a tearful smile, like it had never been a matter of question, like Dean had always deserved that forgiveness. That simple act had brought him back to his senses and he’d changed his mind at the last millisecond.

Sam must have felt him trembling because as the car rocked from side to side, his grip on Dean got tighter and Dean could have sworn he felt the soft touch of lips on his jaw. 

_I’m sorry_ , Dean thought. _I’m so sorry._

Then his arms suddenly felt empty and he knew without looking that Sam wasn’t there anymore. Instead, he felt cold and he was standing somehow and he could see, could see the shadowy figure of a woman with her back turned to him, but he couldn’t really focus on any of that, not when all his thoughts, every inch of his body was screaming for Sam.

_Take me back to him!_


	219. Family Reunion - Out Of The Darkness, Into The Fire

She doesn’t recognize much. There’s too much that has cropped up in this sandbox of her brother since she last saw it. It's overwhelming. So she covers it, blankets it all with her arms stretched wide as possible so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

She stands there, safely hidden away, and breathes in. The air smells different here from what she’s used to. Her body is the same as it had been Before, when she’d only been experimenting, when she'd still indulged her brother's fantasies and played along. Yet, it feels unnatural now- unsteady, vulnerable and exposed, even with her own essence wrapped around her mortal skin like protection.

What now? What does she do now? For so long, she’s fantasized about revenge, about hunting her brother down and making him suffer.

Where is the one who freed her? She casts her gaze around, searching and…

Something bright catches her attention. Just a short distance away. She reaches out, searching, until she finds it. And it’s not one, but two. Two bright objects _(souls, her brother had called them)_ entwined so close together that they seem one. Their physical forms are just as tightly bound, curling around each other.

And one of them, she recognizes, is the one who opened her cage, the one who freed her. So who is the companion?

She comes closer, her curiosity getting the better of her, wanting to touch, to learn.

So she does.

And she recoils in surprise, because she can feel them. She can feel their bond, their love, the hurt and damage that each has suffered and it…

_Of course_ , she realizes, as she tentatively prods at the souls, gentle so they don’t feel anything, and finds their memories. These two souls- they’re family. Siblings. Brother and sister.

No, wait.

Two brothers.

She feels an ache of longing and that’s odd because she hasn’t felt more than anger in so long.

But these two… They remind her of herself and her brother. Her partner. Her everything. Or, well, he had been once.

But her brother betrayed her and… And these two. What if they hurt each other? 

She can see from the memories that they already have, more than once, not even all that long ago.

She hesitates.

One soul that resonates within her, like a part of her.

Another soul that is brighter than brightness, as familiar to her as it’s primordial counterpart.

Should she separate them? Save them from each other? Or let them be?

She acts on instinct then, reaching out further. It takes a smidge more effort than she expected to separate them, but she does it.

He stands in front of her, proud and unafraid, if confused.

She’s grateful and she tells him so, shows him the brand on her skin, explains how connected they are on a level incomprehensible to others.

He rejects her, refuses to accept it.

So she lets him go, puts him and his brother to sleep in the same blink of her eye.

She needs to learn more, she realizes. She needs to adapt and grow, find out as much as she can. Then she can do what she really wants: have her revenge on her brother and remake this world as it had originally once been.

Amara smiles and lets herself be born anew.

Across the country, another being sighs, resigned and apologetic, opens a laptop and starts writing.


	220. Post Credits - Form And Void

He saved at least twelve people before his phone rang.

“ _Hey, I’m on the way_ ,” Dean told him. “ _You done there?_ ”

Sam cleared his throat, gently coaxing a ten year old boy to drink water. “Yeah, I got everyone here. There were only twelve still walking. Cured them all.” _Suck it, Will Smith_ , he thought. Oh, god, his subconscious was starting to sound like his brother, that’s how exhausted he felt.

“Awesome,” Dean said, and it sounded sincere. “ _Well, you’ve been more productive than me_.” He went to describe everything that had happened with Jenna, Crowley and baby Amara, who was apparently probably the Darkness.

“Wow.” Sam had no idea what else to say.

“ _Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, you hang tight, I’ll be there in a few_.”

The call ended and Sam thought that Dean sounded more like himself than he had in a long time.

Relieved from the stress of finding a cure in time, Sam found himself left with several options to think about: Billie’s warning, his vision, the Darkness, his brother and so on.

He wasn’t even sure where one topic ended and another began. Everything was blurring together and he wasn't sure if he was just dehydrated and hungry or still weak from the infection.

It was a relief when he heard the low rumble of the Impala outside the hospital. With a quick word of advice for the survivors to get out of town, Sam bid them goodbye and went out to find Dean leaning against the car, keeping a hand on his gun as he kept a keen eye on their surroundings.

He relaxed a bit when he saw Sam and held out a paper bag. “Got you a burger. Don't complain about the calories. You need them at this point or you'll collapse.”

Sam did collapse a bit, resting his hands on the top of the car and leaning his forehead against the warm metal. “Thanks.”

Dean didn't touch him, didn't place a hand on his shoulder to check him for injuries, didn't curl his fingers around his neck in comfort.

Sam looked up, found him staring at him warily, almost anticipatory. “What is it?” He asked, wondering if Dean could somehow tell that he’d lied, that he’d come so very close to dying.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. Come on. Cas isn’t answering his phone again.”

Sam nodded, getting into the car. As they drove, he told Dean about his run in with the Reaper, the Empty- whatever that was- and how he’d found the cure. He again left out the part where he’d been infected too.

Dean listened quietly. “Well, like I said, at least one of us did some good work.”

Sam tilted his head. “Dean, you can’t blame yourself for Jenna. Or the baby. You didn’t know.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I know. Just, lately… It feels like I can’t do anything right.”

He sounded tired, grief-stricken almost and Sam knew, from the little side-glances, that he was feeling guilty about their showdown in the bar and for beating up Cas and for every casualty of the Mark.

So he reached out to place a hand on Dean’s knee, out of habit, to console him. Dean flinched away.

“Sam…” He sounded strangled. “Not… Don’t. Please. Not now.”

Sam felt hurt, drawing his hand back with a tight nod. He looked out the window and, in his mind’s eye, he thought back to almost a month ago, when Dean had come home drunk and upset, had pinned him to the table and whispered over his lips and wrapped a hand around his throat at the same time. He thought about a few days after that, when Dean had woken up in the morning only to look at Sam guiltily and say, “I can’t.”

Had Sam misread everything? Had all of that, everything he’d spotted in Dean’s tortured expression, only been a result of the Mark, a bastardized mix of it's bloodlust and Dean's own affection? Dean had mentioned, after all, that sex sated the Mark nearly as well as violence.

Sam closed his eyes, rested his head against the window. It was okay, he told himself. He could deal with this. He’d been dealing with it for some time now. If Dean brought it up, tried to let him down easy, or whatever, Sam could pass it off with a laugh, could pretend that he’d been desperate to help Dean and would have tried anything and so that didn’t really mean much in the long run.

Yeah, Sam thought. He could do that.


	221. Second Chances - The Bad Seed

Sam stood, looking at Dean with some hesitation. “You should go to sleep,” he suggested.

Dean didn’t meet his eyes. “Later. You go ahead.”

Sam swallowed, eyes flitting to Cas, before nodding and walking away.

Cas frowned, turning to his friend. “Has something wrong happened between you two?”

Dean sighed. “No. It’s nothing. Man, I just…” He trailed off.

Cas waited for a count of three. “Dean.”

He pressed the ice pack to his forehead again, closing his eyes. “He agreed to kill Crowley in exchange for Rowena's help. And… I know we’ve talked about doing it before, but Crowley has come through for us. He's a slippery bastard and I don't trust him farther than I can throw him, but he has helped us. And I just never really expected that Sam would actually go through with killing him, ya know? I mean, Sam’s fair. He never made a move because having the King Of Hell on speed dial is useful. So, agreeing to kill him like that… Just doesn’t really sound like Sam.”

Cas decided it was time to intervene. “He was desperate. He would have agreed to anything to save you.”

“That's the point I'm getting to,” Dean insisted, leaning forward on the table. “I was right, when I told Sam I was poison. Look at what I've done. I drove Sam to cross limits that he should never have crossed. He almost went dark side for _me_. He thinks the Darkness is _his_ fault, but _I'm_ the one who forced his hand, because _I_ couldn't control the Mark, I couldn't stop hurting him in every way possible. And now…” He gulped, breathing out loudly. “He’s not even holding it against me, damn it. I nearly killed the guy and he's still looking at me like…”

“Like he loves you,” Cas finished for him.

Dean looked ready to run.

“You’re not poison, Dean, you're his brother. He did what he did because of that fact. And you would have done the same for him. You've both been through this before. And, as I told you before, it would take more than trying to kill Sam under influence to make him not want you.”

Dean rubbed at his forehead, taking a sip of his beer. “Thanks, Cas,” he murmured.

“Take some time for just the two of you,” Cas suggested. “Go on a vacation, or a hunt, since the supernatural world never lets you two rest for long. You need some time for just yourselves.”

Dean took a deep breath and gave him a genuine smile.


	222. Of Wants And Needs - Baby

“Never have I ever been throttled more than once on the same case.”

They were sitting on the car’s hood, having quickly swept it clean of glass and blood when they stopped for the night. They still had a day of driving left to get to the bunker and it was a nice night on the outskirts of Kansas. They weren't even really injured severely enough to need Cas' immediate attention, nothing they couldn't patch up themselves.

Sam took a swig of the beer. “Man, this is not a joke,” he groaned. “Every damn time, they go for my throat.”

“Well, maybe it’s a, uh, fetish,” Dean suggested.

Sam side-eyed him skeptically. “A _fetish_?”

Dean hummed, discreetly studying the delicate tanned skin of Sam’s neck. “It’s believable,” he muttered.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Never have I ever been baited by a vampire and fell for it.”

“Hey!” Deam exclaimed indignantly, tearing his gaze back to Sam’s eyes. “How was I supposed to know she was a vamp? She was hot and she was all over me, not really the kind of situation where the upstairs brain is in perfect working condition.” He took a drink.

“You nearly got fanged, Dean,” Sam insisted.

“Well, thank god, you were there,” Dean smiled sarcastically. “My turn: never have I ever… Participated in bondage.”

Sam paused, hesitant.

Dean nearly spit out his drink. “You _what_?!”

He shrugged, tipsy enough to be blushing. “Just a couple times. Stopped after, uh…” He swallowed. “After the Cage.”

Dean mouthed _oh_. They sat in silence for some time.

Sam took a drink. “Never have I ever worn women’s underwear.”

At that, Dean smiled wickedly. “Pink and satin-y.”

Sam gaped, then buried his face in one hand. “I didn’t need that visual,” he mourned.

Dean sniggered, taking a sip, his eyes never leaving Sam’s profile. “Never have I ever tried to give a one-night-stand my number.”

It was meant as a joke, an avenue to tease Sam about his sentimental tendencies, even if their ensuing conversation had made Dean nauseous with jealousy and hurt _(You never want something more? With a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?)_.

But Sam didn’t drink. Instead, he averted his gaze, looking away. “I never tried to give her my number,” he muttered.

Dean blinked, frowned. “But you said...?”

Sam bit his lips, idly passing the bottle from hand to hand. “Wanted to see how you’d react,” he admitted. “Wanted to… Anyway, it didn’t work. So… Whatever.”

A warm feeling settled in Dean’s chest, like it was hot coffee he was drinking and not beer. “And, uh, what you said later?” He asked, tentative. “About wanting something more?”

Sam didn’t answer, just looked up at him through his lashes.

Dean swallowed, Cas' advice warring in his head with his own fears and insecurities. “Sam, we can’t…”

“I know!” Sam cut in, a little harshly. “I know,” he repeated, softer. “I know _every single reason_ you can come up with why we shouldn’t. I’m just…”

“You’re just what?” Dean asked, in a whisper.

Sam breathed out slowly. “I just _want_. Something more. And it’s okay if you don’t…”

“Sam, I-”

“But if you do,” Sam interrupted. “ _If_ you do, then I think it's stupid _not_ to. No matter how many arguments to the negative.”

Halfway to wasted and he could still sound like a nerdy debate student or something.

Sam didn't wait for him to answer. “Never have I ever worn makeup.”

Dean wanted to protest, go back to the more urgent topic. But Sam was looking at him with pleading eyes and he sighed. They were too drunk for that conversation anyway. So he took a drink. “Never have I ever had hair long enough to be braided.”


	223. Room For Two? - Thin Lizzie

There was a moment of awkwardness with the one bed. The ‘ _romantic_ ’ décor didn’t help matters. A large part of Sam wanted to shrivel up in embarrassment because he remembered exactly what he’d said to Dean in a drunken haze just a few nights ago, when they’d been returning from the Nachzehrer case.

Thankfully, Dean hadn’t brought it up, so Sam wasn’t going to either.

Now however, too soon after that conversation and too long after the last time, they were going to be sharing a bed.

Well, they really should have seen this coming. After all, they’d specifically asked for “the room that the couple was in.”

Dean crawled in first, hair wet from his shower. “Dibs on the left side,” he mumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes, dug his laptop out and carried it to the bed. “You always take the left side,” he pointed out.

Dean just hummed, his eyes closed, but Sam could practically feel the awkwardness radiating from him as he worked.

Finally, Dean sighed, turning on his side to face Sam. “What'cha working on?”

Sam shrugged. “Just thought I’d add some notes about the Nachzehrers before informing other hunters about them.”

“Ghoul-pires,” Dean corrected.

Sam didn’t grace that with an answer, just shot him a withering look that made him pout. He turned back to his laptop. “Also, I figured I might as well try and find out more about the Darkness.”

Dean sighed. “Sam, I get that you’re worried, man, so am I. But you need to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Sam replied automatically. “But you should get some rest. You’ve been driving all day.”

“Sam…” Dean started warningly.

“Dean,” Sam parroted. Then he relented. “Okay, how about, you go to sleep now and I will too, in…” He checked the time. “Two hours.”

“One and a half,” Dean corrected.

“One and forty-five minutes,” Sam countered. “Promise.”

Dean clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Night, Sammy.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” Sam murmured.

There was silence in the room, except for Dean’s breathing, slow and steady, and Sam’s typing.

Despite his promise, he lost track of time, eyes fixed on the laptop screen with single-minded intensity.

Then he felt a warm hand creep onto his side. He startled and looked down to find Dean staring up at him through sleepy, disapproving eyes. The glow of the laptop made them shine greener, illuminating the freckles on his pale skin and making his lips seem pinker.

Sam was staring.

Dean was staring back, the reproach already faded.

“What?” Sam asked, voice broken in a hushed whisper.

Dean swallowed, licked his lips. “Your time is up,” he said in a low voice.

Sam tore his eyes away with some effort. Dean was right- he really did need to sleep now. With a nod, he put away the laptop and, with only a second of hesitation, tucked himself in under the covers.

Dean was still watching him, but now Sam couldn’t read his expression.

“What is it?” He asked, self-conscious. Why the hell was Dean looking at him like that?!

Dean closed his eyes after another second. “Nothing. Goodnight.”

Sam stared at him for another moment, then gave up and closed his own eyes too. “Night.”


	224. Happy Honeymoon - Our Little World

Castiel didn't look up from Sam’s TV as Dean walked in.

“You're still watching?” There was a note of amusement as well as grudging respect in Dean’s question.

“Yes,” Cas replied, never taking his eyes off the screen. “This is a terrible tragedy.”

“What is?” Dean asked, walking around to the bed to face the screen. “Oh. Yeah. Sam got totally weepy during this.”

“Will they ever meet again?” Cas wondered, as the Doctor appeared to bid a last goodbye to Rose Tyler.

“Well…”

“No, don’t tell me. I’d rather discover on my own.”

Dean nodded, smiling incredulously. “Okay, well, Sam and I are heading out. We think we’ve found another soulless case.”

Cas simply nodded. “Of course, yes. It is also a good way for you to bond.”

There was a pause, as if Dean was trying to understand his meaning. “Yeah. Except we don’t really… Need to… Bond. I mean, we’re fine, now.”

“I know you are,” Cas assured with a nod as he queued up the next episode. “I would like it to remain that way. It would be good for you. Think of this as your reconnecting honeymoon period.”

Dean audibly spluttered. “We’re not… It isn’t… Honeymoons are for married couples!”

Cas finally turned to him. “Yes. And you and Sam are married as much as any legally wedded couples, minus the sexual intercourse and government recognition, of course.” He refrained from adding that at least one of those two missing components could be rectified if both Winchesters would man up, as the expression went.

Dean seemed to be counting under his breath. He also looked oddly hesitant. “I’ll just… Go now. See you when we get back, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas bid and then turned back to the screen.


	225. The Rabbit Hole - Plush

_Lightning. Rose garden. White suit. “I like you, Dean… We will always end up here…” Cold. Beatific smile. Brass against his chest, leather around his neck. Trashcan. Dangle and drop. “It’s worthless.” Shadowy wings. Grace-blue eyes. Cemetery. Black hole. “It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got him.” Empty heart. Empty smile. Empty-_

Wake up. Weight on his chest. Hard to breathe. “STOP THE CAR!”

A skid, a screech.

Doors open. Stumble. Cool air. Water drops on his face. Eyes close.

“Dean? Dean! Hey, hey, breathe with me, come on. Come on, hey, feel that? Just breathe with me. You’re here, you’re awake. It’s okay. Just breathe with me. It was only a dream.”

Dean opened his eyes. It was raining, he noticed belatedly, making Sam’s hair cling to his forehead and jaw and cheeks. He looked worried, guilty, apologetic. He looked like _Sam_.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing lightly up and down Dean’s arms. “I didn’t… Shouldn’t have brought up the Cage. I know you hate remembering that.”

Dean wanted to cry. Why was _Sam_ apologizing? He was the one tortured for millennia and he thought _Dean_ was traumatized by it? No. The only thing that scared Dean was losing Sam. Again. For the _n_ th time.

“No Cage,” he rasped, grasping Sam’s shoulders. “You’re not going back there.”

For a few seconds, Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at Dean, contemplating. “We’ve got a few hours left till Kansas,” he finally said. “Come on.”

Dean supposed he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Still, he couldn’t help but wish it would be, just for once.


	226. Tasted Like Loneliness - Just My Imagination

Sully watched Sam talk to Reese, getting her into her car and giving her their number.

He smiled. Even after everything Sam had been through, he was still, at his core, kind.

“Hey, so, I wanted to ask,” Dean spoke up. “What’s your _thing_?”

Sully turned to him, questioningly. “Pardon?” He’d never had an extremely high opinion of the older brother, the way most of the Winchesters' friends did, but after the day they’d just had, he figured Dean wasn’t all that bad after all.

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well, Sparkles was a manicorn, Nikki was a mermaid, Weems had the air guitar… What about you?”

“Oh.” Sully grinned brightly. “I’m a listener.”

Dean looked skeptical again. “I’m sorry, a what? A listener? What’s that?”

“Some kids don’t need fantasy creatures or magical talents,” Sully explained. “They just need someone to talk to, someone who’ll listen to them and just… Be their friend when they have no one else.”

Dean looked a little pale, he noted with concern. “Oh,” he mumbled, scratching his jaw nervously. “Okay. And you…”

“Dean,” Sully said, patient. “Sam only ever needed me when you weren’t there with him. And even then, he talked about you more than anything else. He always loved you most.”

To his delight, Dean blushed, his face dark under the moonlight. “Right. Um, thanks.”

Sully sighed, turning back to watch as Sam walked towards them. “You’re a very lucky man, Dean Winchester.”

Dean followed his gaze. “You know what, Sully?” He asked, sounding a lot surer than he had a moment ago. “You’re actually right.”


	227. Partner - O Brother, Where Art Thou?

It was almost time. He could feel it.

Lucifer turned to look at Michael. After they’d spent the first few decades fighting and playing around with Sam, he had gone into some kind of limbo state. Not sleep, because angels couldn’t do that. But close enough.

In any case, Lucifer couldn’t get his attention, couldn’t even get to his Vessel, Adam, because Michael had done something to protect the mortal body from him.

From the outside, he seemed to be simply resting, leaning against the walls with his eyes closed. Father only knew why he hadn’t shed his vessel.

Lucifer scoffed. After Death had taken Sam away, he’d been so bored. Again. Michael didn’t even have the courtesy to talk to him. That hurt more than Lucifer wanted to admit.

Still. He could sense Sam drawing ever closer, could feel the pull between soul and Grace. His one and only. His true partner.

Well… His original true partner wanted nothing to do with him, hadn’t for eons.

Lucifer looked back at his brother with a sense of longing. If he tried to wake Michael, would he? It hadn’t worked the last 9039 times.

He reached out, cautious, brushing lightly against Michael’s wings. They were large, larger than his own. To a human, they would seem to be colored gold. And they twitched once under Lucifer’s caress, but nothing more.

He sighed, assuming the illusionary form of the vessel he’d worn before Sam. Bending slightly, he pressed a chaste kiss to Michael’s human lips.

“Another times perhaps, brother dear,” he whispered in Enochian.

Then he straightened and stood in the corner, leaning casually against the bars, ready to put on a class act once more.


	228. Intruder - Devil In The Details

It wasn’t until Sam’s head hit the pillow that he realized: his bed smelled like Cas. Like _angel_. Ozone and metal. He could almost taste the bitterness on his tongue.

He sat up gingerly, getting to his feet and backing away from the bed. In his mind’s eye, Lucifer was approaching him with a cruel smile, crooning softly at him. Sam started to shiver, feeling the phantom coldness on his cheek where the Archangel had touched him. 

_Pull yourself together_ , he scolded himself. He should change the sheets, he considered, staring at his bed like it might come alive and attack him. That would definitely help get rid of the smell. But he was so tired. And he knew he couldn’t blame Cas for this, so he swallowed his regret for letting him stay in his room.

Maybe he was just imagining it. Desperate, Sam grabbed his knife from the desk and, very carefully, pressed the sharp edge against the old scar on his palm, hard enough to really hurt, but not enough to make it bleed.

Nothing happened. He could still smell Grace.

Slowly, he backed out the room, closing the door. He headed towards the kitchen room, only to find Dean returning from there.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, casual enough that it meant he was suspicious. “I was just getting a snack.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I… I can’t sleep yet. Thought I’d get a drink.”

He could almost see Dean’s protectiveness kick up a notch. “Yeah, I can do with a beer. You wanna-?”

“Dean,” Sam cut in, trying to sound calm and patient and not like he was terrified. “I think… You need sleep. You’re knackered.”

It was true. Dean looked truly exhausted. He’d told Sam about his meeting with Amara, obviously leaving something out. He’d gotten beat up by Lucifer too. He needed rest. And Sam… Sam needed assurance that his world was real. He needed Dean, more than he should in the moment. If Dean stuck close to him right now, Sam might do something that they’d both regret. He couldn’t take that chance.

Dean was pursing his lips in disappointment. Sam could see how much he wanted to help somehow, how it went against his grain to leave Sam be.

But he nodded. “I’ll be in my room,” he quietly said. It was a silent promise and an open offer for Sam to join him.

Sam nodded and as Dean started walking, he called out with a question. “Hey, how long was I in there before you got to me?”

Dean turned to him with a furrowed brow. “A couple of hours, at most. Not more.” He hesitated. “How long was it for you?”

Sam swallowed, averting his eyes. “Longer. Long enough,” he muttered.

Dean sighed, unhappy. “Sam…”

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “Go to bed. I’ll be fine.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Thank you.”


	229. So Close - Into The Mystic

There was no way Dean was going to get any sleep tonight, despite what he’d said. There were just too many things going on in his mind- Sam, Amara, his own fear regarding her, Sam, Mildred's advice, worry for Cas, Sam, and Sam again.

How had Mildred put it? _Pining_. Yeah, Dean was pining, had been for way too long.

With a sigh, Dean looked at the clock. 1:15 AM.

Could he get away with sneaking out and going for a drive? There was a little clearing on the hill that the bunker was nestled into, higher up where he and Sam had driven up a few times to watch the sky. Mildred liked to watch sunsets, but the stars were theirs.

Well, Dean figured Sam would be more upset if he went without him than at being woken up before time.

With that in mind, he crept into Sam’s room.

Sam woke up within seconds. “What's'it?” He grumbled.

“Can’t sleep,” Deam whispered. “Let’s go for a drive.”

There was a brief pause, like Sam was trying to wake up fully, then he yawned, getting up. “Lemme wash up.”

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on blankets on the grass, leaning against the car, heads tipped up to the night sky. Out here, on the outskirts, it was like clusters of diamonds spilled over black velvet.

And he was starting to get poetic. _Great_.

“You and Mildred made a cute couple,” Sam broke the silence with a mumbled tease.

Dean laughed lightly. “Man, I’m surprised I got out with my virtue intact.”

“Aww, don’t worry, Dean,” Sam mockingly assured. “I would have defended your honor.”

“Shut up.”

Sam laughed.

They were pressed too close to each other- _for warmth_ , Dean told himself, not because he liked the feel of Sam’s solid presence. So when he turned his head to look at Sam, he was way too close and Dean froze with a slight shiver.

Sam turned too, met his eyes. “Cold, isn’t it?”

Dean wasn’t entirely aware of nodding. “That’s the only reason you’re getting away with this snuggling. I don’t snuggle.”

Predictably, Sam scoffed, wiggling his arm between the body of the car and Dean’s back, so his fingers were resting lightly on Dean’s hip. It felt like a searing brand. “Oh, come on. You’re such a closet cuddler.”

“Am not,” Deam complained, but he also leaned more into Sam’s side and Sam didn’t mention it.

Dean sighed, watching his breath form mist in front of him. He could feel Sam watching him, could feel the question hanging between them.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam sounded scared. “Can I…?” He trailed off. Instead there was the touch of warm lips over his temple, light and barely there. Dean could feel the movement of Sam’s mouth, like he was trying to imprint some secret words into his skin.

Dean knew he was trembling. Was it the cold, or Sam’s touch?

“Whatever you want, Sammy,” he managed to say, breathless and waiting, refusing to turn and see whatever expression Sam would be wearing now.

Sam shook his head. “I already told you. It doesn't matter if it's not what you want too.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. Of course, he wanted the same, wanted Sam. But Amara's words were at the back of his mind and she was right. Dean couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t even entertain the thought when she was close to him, and he hated her as well as himself for it.

He couldn’t tell Sam about it. He wouldn’t be able to handle the pity or the judgement or, worst of all, the blame that Sam would never put words to.

He couldn’t do that.

Next to him, he realized that Sam had gone utterly still. He’d laid all his cards on the table, more than once, and Dean had been sitting here thinking.

Gently, he extracted himself from Sam’s arms. Sam looked almost heartbroken and Dean had to look away. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Sam,” he said softly, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.

He heard Sam take a deep, shuddering breath. “Right. I didn’t… I should have…”

Dean gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t think… That I don’t want to. Because I do. But we can’t.”

He wondered if Sam would question why. He both hoped for and dreaded it.

But Sam closed his eyes, nodding tremulously, like he didn’t believe a word Dean was saying. “Okay,” he whispered and shrugged him off, getting to his feet. “We should get back. Get some sleep while we still can.”

Dean silently agreed, following Sam with no words and a heavy heart.


	230. Charm - Don't You Forget About Me

With Jody in the hospital for her leg, Sam offered to drive the girls home while Dean stayed back with their friend.

“Lock the doors and don't open them for anyone,” Sam instructed them. “Claire, keep your weapons close. Alex, you know how to shoot?”

Alex nodded, looking even paler than normal, shaken. “Do you think there are more?”

Sam pulled out the Beretta they kept in the glove box and handed it to her. “I doubt it. But just in case, okay?”

They both nodded and started towards the house. Sam waited until they were in, then turned the Impala around to go back to the hospital. At the lobby, he was accosted by Jody’s deputy for details.

Sam gave him the standard BS, introduced himself as Jody’s friend and helped with the medical paperwork. He was pleasantly surprised and humbled to find that she had listed him and Dean as her emergency contacts.

By the time he made it up to the room they had Jody in, both she and Dean were asleep, the latter leaning back uncomfortably in a chair, head resting against the wall, and the other on meds.

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile. If Dean didn't insist on driving for no less than eighteen hours, he wouldn’t fall asleep within a few minutes of still silence.

Sam approached quietly. The fluorescent lights of the hospital made Dean’s skin fairer, his freckles standing out starkly, his lashes casting a dark smudge of a shadow over the apples of his cheeks, his lips parted and slightly shiny, like he’d been biting them. Not for the first time, Sam thought about how sadly pathetic it was that he knew exactly how they felt against his own, but it didn’t count because neither of them had meant it any of those times.

Dean began to stir, feeling Sam’s stare. They both had this problem- neither of them could stay asleep if they were being watched. Unless they were in the car.

Sam reached out to soothe Dean, lull him back to sleep. But, before his hand made contact, Dean, still asleep and dreaming, mumbled, “Amara?”

Sam froze. For one drawn-out second, he stayed still and Dean began to really wake. Sam acted on instinct, straightening and fixing a quick smile on his face.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, landing on him immediately, and a half-smile appeared. “Hey,” he greeted in a whisper.

“Hey,” Sam returned. “Why don’t you go back to the house and get some proper rest? The girls are there too. I’ll stay here.”

Dean nodded, getting to his feet with a yawn. Sam offered him the keys and he took them with a quick glance at Jody. “Call if you need anything.”

“You too. Now go. You look dead on your feet.”

Dean left. Sam sank into the chair, letting himself admit what Dean had said in his sleep.

_Amara_.

It made sense, Sam realized. Dean, by his own admission, had had two shots at the Darkness. He’d failed both times. Not missed. _Failed_.

And the look in his eyes whenever her topic came up was like fear and curiosity and longing all mixed up in an ugly solution.

So, _God’s_ sister had some sort of charm over _his_ brother. _Great_.

Sam closed his own eyes, folding his arms self-consciously. Was this going to come between them? God, he hoped not. It hadn’t so far, right? Should he tell Dean that knew? Should he get Cas' two cents on it first? Should-?

_Stop_ , Sam told himself. Whatever else had happened between them in the last dew days, they were still brothers. Why was he panicking like he was dealing with someone else?

He’d wait for Dean to come clean about it himself, just like he always did. And Dean would, Sam knew this. He just had to wait.


	231. Last First Kiss - Love Hurts

Dean sat in the car, waiting for Sam to join him. He kept thinking about what Sam just said to him: _If you think I'm going to blame you or judge you, I’m not._

Sam was really just going to let it go at that. 

And all this time, Dean had been worried about rejection.

What was it the Quareen had called it? _The love in your heart… Cloaked in shame…_

Dean had almost laughed in the face of her presumption. That love wasn’t for Amara. But the shame was. And it wasn’t something he needed to feel, as it turned out.

And if he was being honest, he'd expected the monster to look like someone else, not Bach or Simpson.

Sam slid in beside him.

Dean wondered how to best breach the topic. “Sam, you remember the siren? Back when we were hunting Lilith?”

Sam’s face darkened, as it always did when the topic of that year came up. “Yeah. It pit us against each other.”

“Remember what it said about how you were what I needed most? So he became a sort of idealized version of you?”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

“I thought the Quareen, for me, would be the same thing,” Dean blurted out. “I mean, I thought it would be _you_.”

Sam stared at him. “What are you trying to say?” He asked faintly.

Dean took a deep breath. “Amara- whatever connection or charm she's working on me… It's not real, okay? She’s never gonna mean more to me than you do.” It felt like a risk, saying these things with no filter.

But Sam nodded. “Yeah. I know. I believe you, Dean. You can fight this.”

Sam deserved everything. He deserved everything he wanted. And somehow, miraculously, he wanted Dean. Even after what Dean had just confessed.

“Remember when you asked me what I wanted?” He asked, fighting to get the words out.

Sam tensed, looking ready to run. “What about it?”

Dean made a sound of frustration. “Do you ever really listen to a word I say?” He muttered and, hoping against hope that he wasn’t making a colossal mistake, he reached for Sam and tugged him into a kiss.

It was rushed. Desperate. Without finesse. Sam made some sound of surprise that was immediately swallowed and Dean slowed down, letting Sam’s brain catch up. When it did, Sam twisted in his seat, hand cupping the back of his head, strong and wide and suddenly confident, and Dean relaxed into him, clutching Sam’s jacket in his fingers and twisting it in an effort to pull him closer.

It wasn’t as if they’d never kissed before. They had. But this was… _Different_. This wasn’t a ruse for a case, they weren’t stuck in different lives with no memories, no one was a demon, no one was unconscious.

This was just _them_ and the vanilla scent of Sam’s girly shampoo and the smooth slide of their lips, still perfectly coordinated and in-sync.

Sam broke away first, head tipping back to blink up at the roof of the car, both of them breathing hard and flushed red.

“I listen to everything you say,” he said, voice hoarse. “Just… Sometimes, I maybe understand them wrong.”

Dean barely nodded, gaze fixed on Sam’s. “So… We’re good?”

Sam nodded, looking back at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes. “More than,” he whispered. He leaned in slowly, kissing Dean again, more gentle now, testing the feel of it.

Dean smiled into it, fingers trailing across Sam’s jaw. “Awesome,” he muttered.

“Should probably go slow,” Sam murmured. “Just in case.”

Dean hummed in agreement, resisting the urge to check for impending attacks from any supernatural creature who might take offence to the Winchesters' happiness.

“Something I wanna ask you,” he mumbled, pulling away an inch and searching his pockets. “Kinda late, though.”

Sam blinked. “Um, what?”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from grinning, all thoughts of world-ending entities far from his thoughts. “Be my Valentine?” He held out two heart-shaped candies in red wrappers.

Sam laughed, head bowing slightly, as he finally pushed Dean back to his side of the seat. “Sure, Dean,” he agreed, snagging one of the candies. “I'd be happy to.”


	232. Amoureuse - The Vessel

Delphine watched the man fiddle idly with his thumbs, his eyes fixed on her cargo. She knew barely anything about him, but she was a spy and she could read people too well. This man was eager to get back home.

“This war you are fighting,” she spoke up. “How are the Men of Letters faring so far?”

Dean shrugged, vague. “Well, actually, the original Letters died sometime in the 1950s. My brother and I are legacies and we’re kind of the only ones. And we’re also actually hunters, so... Yeah, we’re not doing all that great.”

Delphine raised an eye brow. The way of the Letters was a lonely one. This man and his brother were living it alone? “That must be difficult for you,” she observed. “Do you have someone waiting back home for you?”

“Yeah, my brother. He actually wanted to come with me, but I had him stay back to hold down the fort.” He smiled, looking remarkably handsome when he did so, all his features softening with affection. “If I don’t get back to him, he’ll find a way to kick my ass, guaranteed.”

_Oh_. Delphine took careful note not to react. “Do you not have a… An _amoureuse_? A lover?”

As she had expected, Dean fumbled for an response, his eyes going wide as he cast his mind desperately for an answer. “No,” he finally settled on, rubbing the back of his neck. “Erm, just… My brother. And me.” He seemed flustered, red staining his cheeks and the top of his ears as he averted his gaze.

“Hmm.” Delphine leaned back in her seat. It was understandable if he wanted to hide his preferences. Most people did. “Is that not illegal? Punishable by law? Or has it gotten easier to hide?”

For a second, Dean looked like he wanted to argue. Then he sighed, as if giving up. “No, it’s not illegal anymore. Not in my time. Not since a few months ago. Lots of people still don’t like it, but…”

Delphine nodded. “Well, Mr. Winchester, I will do my utmost to ensure you get back home to your brother.”

Again, she got the sense he wanted to argue, to correct her on something. But he seemed to let it go, nodding thankfully instead.


	233. All The Good Ones - Beyond The Mat

Rio wasn’t _vain_. But she knew what she looked like and she knew the effect she had on men who weren’t her boys.

So, it came as a mild surprise when the tall guy she’d talked with at the funeral, with his obvious crush, did nothing more than compliment her genuinely and offer condolences. Rio respected the decorum expected at a funeral, but he didn’t seek her out later either and honestly? She needed a distraction from the third death in a week that she’d tangentially been a part of and that man, Sam, all broad shoulders and pillowed lips, had been perfect.

_Oh well_. Maybe he was already in a relationship. Maybe he just wasn’t all that interested. Plus, as it turned out, he was an FBI agent, just like the man he’d been with- also handsome, with the kind of easy charm that suggested experience, and yet, he, too, had only given her a cursory glance- and they probably weren’t permitted to mingle while on the job.

As it turned out, as Rio walked the short distance from the bar to her motel room, she spotted a black Chevy in the parking lot, and leaning against it, both the FBI agents.

_Wait. No._

The shorter one- and that was a relative term- who’d been at the bar with them, was leaning against the car, hand at his forehead. She was pretty sure his name was Dean. Sam, who’d approached her first, was towering over him, bracketing him against the car.

As Rio watched, tipsy enough to not care that she was, in a sense, intruding, the sound of their voices reached her, light and teasing, though she couldn’t quite make out the words. Then, Sam backed off, head tipping back in laughter, and Dean’s smile was so bright that she could see it even from a distance.

Rio smiled slightly, finally stepping into her room. It was always the good looking ones.


	234. The Importance Of Opinions - Safe House

Sam woke with a gasp, his body instinctively straining against the ropes tying him to a chair. Dean's hands were on him in a second, quickly undoing the knots.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you,” Dean assured, kneeling between his legs. He cupped Sam's face, peering at him in concern. “I tied you up as soon as the Soul Eater got you. In case it tried to possess you like it possessed me. Which it did, but these things aren't physically very strong. Sorry, I didn't get to ask you about it beforehand.”

Sam nodded, resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he assured, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. “It's okay.”

They stayed like that for some time, in a cabin in Tennessee, cleaning up Bobby's first Soul Eater case. It had been Sam's turn to go into the Nest and he knew Dean wanted to ask him what he'd seen in there.

“I saw you on the floor, ripped apart,” he mumbled. “Your chest and… Everything was bloody.” He pressed a hand against Dean's heart, counting the beats as he tried to banish the visions the monster had shown him.

Dean’s grip on the back of his neck grew a little tighter. “It never gets easier, does it?” He asked in a hushed whisper.

Sam shook his head, drawing back with a sigh. Thanks to Dean's foresight, this house hadn’t been trashed.

“Were there other people in there?” Dean asked, as they stood and began to pack up their stuff. “Anyone we know?”

Sam shook his head. “Didn't see Marv. Or Bobby. But there were a bunch of souls, so maybe I just missed them in the crowd.”

Dean nodded, thoughtfully, leading them out to the car.

“Hey, weird question.” He laughed, nervous and without humor. “If Bobby were here, what do you think he'd have to say about…” He waved a hand between the two of them. “Us?”

Sam tapped the top of the car thoughtfully. “I don't know,” he mused. “I don't think he would have been happy about it or anything. But…”

“But maybe he would have understood?” Dean finished. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Maybe he even suspected something was going on already,” Sam suggested. “Who knows, maybe even Dad did. They'd have been wrong, back then, but…”

“I think you’re actually right about Dad, he might have, I don’t know, seen it coming, or something,” Dean agreed. “I remember how weird he looked at me after you left for Stanford. Like he was afraid I was gonna break apart or something.”

“Yeah,” Sam murmured. He looked at Dean closely. “Are you… Having second thoughts? Because of what they’d think?”

Dean’s jaw fell slightly. “No! Of course, not! Sammy!”

Sam held up his hands, though he wasn’t sure how well he hid his relief. “Sorry. Just checking.”

“No,” Dean repeated firmly. He reached across the top of the car, gripping Sam’s wrist and this easy kind of affection was still so new that Sam felt literal electricity at the touch. “No second thoughts. It was just a question.”

Sam smiled at the vehement assurance. “Okay,” he gave in easily.

Dean squeezed his hand once, then let go, with a smile of his own.


	235. Take Me Home - Red Meat

They stopped at a motel when Dean decided Sam would be better off sleeping in an actual bed. He helped Sam into the room, making two trips to get their bags, while Sam ordered pizza.

Once they were settled in, Dean turned to Sam. “Take off the shirt,” he instructed. “I wanna check your stitches.”

Sam eyed him in concern. “De…”

“Sam. Just. Let me.” Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been holding it together all this time. He refused to break now, but the huskiness of his voice was hard to hide.

Sam took a shallow, bracing breath and pulled off the grey V-neck he’d slipped into after the drive, laying back on the pillow. Dean kneeled beside him on the mattress, gently moving the bandage aside and running a careful hand over the fresh stitches that were holding a gaping bullet wound together. Dean swallowed, the memory of blood-soaked skin and cloth flashing behind his eyes. He flattened his palm against Sam’s stomach, feeling the strong muscles, the warmth, the slight movement of his breathing- everything that indicated life.

He wasn’t aware of a tear rolling down his cheek, until Sam’s hand was reaching for him, swiping his face with a thumb.

“Michelle had told me what you did,” he whispered. “I just wanted to hear it from you.”

Dean released a shuddering breath, shifting closer and bowing his head to hide his face from Sam. “I should never have left you in there with him,” he confessed, voice broken and sorrowful. “I should have brought him out with me. Or just… Made you walk with us.” _The son of a bitch died too fast and easy,_ he thought furiously.

Sam tugged at Dean’s hand and he resisted. But Sam insisted, whispering, “Come on. You’re not going to hurt me.”

So he complied, letting Sam pull his shirt off, carefully hovering over him so they were face to face. Sam looked painfully young like this, open and trusting and affectionate, but his eyes were aged, weighed down with millennia of grief and pain, entirely too focused. Pain meds had never had much effect on his sleep schedule anyway.

Sam slid fingers into his hair, pulling him down to capture his lips in a kiss. Dean kept it chaste, refusing to risk the slightest strenuous movement on Sam’s part. But Sam didn’t push for more either, simply holding him close, hand skimming down Dean’s bare chest until they reached the waistband of his jeans. They were breathing the same air, the one lamp in the room cast a warm, buttery glow over everything, and it all seemed a little dreamlike. Dean wished they could just stay like this, with him cocooning Sam with his own body to shelter him from the outside world, keep him safe from every single thing out there, away from prying eyes.

“I'd have done the same,” Sam whispered the words over the rise of Dean’s mouth, like it was a dirty secret to be kept between only them. “If Billie really had taken you. I’d have followed.”

The vibrations of Sam’s chest beneath his own, the hand that was tracing patterns idly over his thighs and the words themselves, all sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. This wasn’t just a declaration, or assurance. It was a promise.

“Wouldn’t let you leave me behind,” he continued.

And it should have made Dean guilty, made him upset, that his little brother would give his life for him. And yet, he already had. They _both_ had. _More_ than once before. They'd broken the world for each other. And with Billie’s threat of the Empty? Hell if they weren’t going to fight tooth and nail to stay together.

Where they went didn't really matter, so long as they had each other.

So, Dean kissed him again, with a little more force, shifting so he was comfortably settled with his knees on either side of Sam’s hips. “You can't do that again,” he commanded, in a low gritty voice, speaking into the line of Sam’s jaw, moving lower to nip at his clavicle. 

Sam nodded, laser focused on him even as he deftly undid Dean’s belt. “I'm not going anywhere without you,” he promised.

Dean hesitated one last time. “You sure?” He asked, worriedly, hand resting over the top of Sam’s thigh. “I've never really…”

To his credit, Sam didn’t roll his eyes, just smiled up at him. “I have, I'll talk you through it,” he assured softly. “And, yeah, Dean. I’m sure.”


	236. Secret Admirers - Hell's Angel

“He has a crush on you,” Dean stated casually.

Sam ignored him for a second, too focused on their game of beer bowling. The empty bottles went down and he looked up at Dean. “Who?”

“Crowley.”

Sam made a sound of annoyance. “ _You’re_ the one who spent a whole two months being romanced by him all across the Midwest.” He wondered when he’d genuinely stopped feeling bitter about that. Probably sometime in the past two months. It wasn’t a stretch to guess the event that had given him closure about it.

Dean, meanwhile, rolled his eyes, rearranging the bottles for his own turn. “Yeah, _no_ , I’m pretty sure that was just him sucking up to me so I would be on his side.”

Sam shook his head. “Didn’t sound like it. If anything, he probably has the hots for _you_.”

“Seems more like he’s pulling pigtails with you.”

“He always prefers to talk to you instead of me.”

Dean paused in his game, then changed tack. “Okay, maybe. But-” He pointed an accusing finger at Sam. “Rowena likes you. _Likes_ likes you.”

“What are you, a middle schooler?” He asked. But he didn’t argue.

Dean thumped the table in victory. “Ha! See? I knew it!”

Sam shrugged, remembering his coffee and taking a sip to hide his smile. “She is kinda fun,” he admitted reluctantly. “Definitely evil and not to be trusted, but fun.”

Dean squinted at him. “Well, she can find her own Sam,” he muttered. “This one’s mine.”

“I’m not your property,” Sam reminded lightly.

Dean raised an eye brow. “Want a tattoo? _**Property Of Dean Winchester. Do Not Touch**_.”

Sam glared at him. “You’re not coming anywhere near me with a tattoo gun,” he warned. “Besides, if I get one, then so do you.”

“Please,” Dean scoffed. “ _You_ are _my_ bitch.”

Sam choked on his coffee. “Yeah, keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I do,” Dean said, leering at him ridiculously. “Every night.”

Sam shook his head, helplessly amused. “Does your head have anything other than sex in it?”

Dean pretended to think. “Uh, Cindy Crawford. And… Yeah, that’s it.” He shrugged, taking a delicate sip of Sam’s coffee. “Important things to think about, Sammy. I don’t have the brain space for other stuff. That’s what I’ve got you for.”

Sam laughed. “You’re an idiot.”


	237. Rumors - The Chitters

César looked between the Winchesters skeptically, when they were preoccupied within themselves.

“I’m telling you,” he said in a low voice. “No way those two are really brothers. Maybe those other hunters were right.”

Jesse tried very hard not to roll his eyes. He watched the Winchesters as well, as Dean brushed dust from Sam’s hair and Sam just let him, like it was normal. “No, I don’t think so,” he argued. “They’re just like my brother and I were. You know what those other hunters said about the kind of parent John Winchester was. They never had anyone else. So, maybe they’re a little closer than normal brothers, but so were we. And _we_ did have our parents.”

César looked at his husband, knowing he was probably right. After all, he never had any siblings himself so how would he know? But he turned to the Winchesters again and the way they were looking at each other was too much like how he and César did. And César wondered: what if he and Jesse were _both_ right?


	238. The Best Writers - Don't Call Me Shurley

“So, why did you create the Winchesters this way?” Metatron asked, as God- sorry, _Chuck_ \- kept writing. “I mean, you gave them a _soul bond_ , you put them through the kind of life where they had _no other choice_ but to be completely wrapped up in each other. You must have known it would come to this point. So why?”

“It was an experiment,” he replied. “I’m all-knowing, but I can’t see the future. I wanted to know if, even with the kind of bond they have, they would still have the ability to do the hard thing for the greater good. And honestly-” He stopped typing, looking up at Metatron with an expression of amusement. “I _fully_ expected them to fail. After Dean came back from Hell, I kept waiting for him to turn on Sam for the demon blood thing. Or for Sam to go complete dark side to save him. But he didn’t.. And it was super touch-and-go for a while, but in the end, they pulled through. Together.”

“And the Apocalypse?” Metatron questioned.

Chuck shrugged. “I could have talked to Lucifer and Michael myself, told them to stuff their problems and talk it out. But I thought they could come to their senses on their own. I thought maybe their respective Vessels would teach them to be brothers again. When that obviously didn’t work, I thought it would go according to the original plan: that they’d fight and one would emerge the victor, killing either one of the Winchesters in the process. But again, they surprised me.” He grinned and, to the fallen angel, it was like looking at the sun. “Biggest plot twist I ever saw. It just wrote itself. Then again… The best characters always do.”

Metatron was starting to get a headache. “But I’m guessing you weren’t expecting Sam to come back.”

“Again, no,” Chuck confirmed. “Castiel brought him back wrong, then Dean temporarily died to get the rest of him back, and they broke the world _again_ … At some point, I stopped interfering. Just, you know, let them do their thing. They make their own problems to solve, I’m just recording the stuff as it happens.”

“But, _Amara_ is big enough for you to re-emerge?”

Again, there was the briefest flicker of warning on Chuck’s face before he sighed. “She _is_ my sister. She is… The only one equal to me. They can’t beat her.”

_And you’re not even going to try_ , Metatron thought. He didn’t say it out loud, but Chuck gave him a wry smile as if he’d heard it anyway. He probably had.

“Out of curiosity,” Metatron said instead. “Did you mean to write them with… _That_ _much_ subtext?”

Chuck raised an eye brow.

Metatron hurried to explain. “You know, I mean, they are a mirror for Lucifer and Michael. And Cain and Abel. And…”

“Amara and myself,” Chuck finished.

Metatron nodded. “Right. So… Did you write that in, like, on purpose, or… Did it just _happen_?”

Chuck went back to his writing, smirking slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to know.”


	239. Bleeding Love - All In The Family

Chuck disappeared for a shower, with a call over his shoulder to, “Take that amulet off when you're done, the light makes my head ache even if _you_ can’t see it.”

Sam and Dean were left in their respective places, neither of them quite looking at each other. Finally Dean stood and started walking towards the room. He could hear Sam follow after him, unsure and nervous.

Once they were behind closed doors, Dean turned to Sam, clearing his throat nervously. “What were you thinking?” He muttered, obviously deflecting. “Running into the fog like that?”

Sam played along. “There were people. I thought… I was trying to get to them.”

Dean shook his head. The tension grew. “Did you have it?” He asked, trying to keep his voice soft.

Sam nodded, eyes downcast, and wiped away Dean’s half-hope that Chuck had simply planted it in Sam’s pocket.

“All this time?” Dean asked, voice going husky and broken. “Where was it?”

Sam swallowed. “Wore it for some time. Left it under a floorboard in Bobby’s house before jumping into the Cage. At the bottom of my duffel when I came back. Then, in a box I keep in my room.” He was barely audible, like he didn’t want Dean to hear him.

Dean shut his eyes, searching for the amulet beneath his shirts, having worn it discreetly while talking to Chuck. It dug into his palm as he closed his fist around it and the pain felt good, like he deserved it. He brought it out, where Sam could easily see it around his neck.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He asked.

Sam looked guilty, eyes fixed on it. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to know. Or _it_. And then it just… Never seemed like the right time.”

Dean nodded, understanding. “I'm sorry I ever threw it away,” he offered in a mumble. “I’ve… I went back to look for it, later that night. It was already gone.”

Sam stepped closer, catching the amulet and wrapping the cord around his fingers. “Chuck told us to put it away,” he said softly.

Dean didn't much care to do that, but there were some people you didn't refuse. God happened to be one of them.

“It’s okay, I think,” he said in a quiet voice, tilting his head up to meet Sam’s eyes. “I don't need a symbol to remind me how I feel about you.” He needed Sam to understand this, no matter what happened to the amulet itself later on. “That's not something I'm capable of forgetting.”

Sam’s eyes grew dark and, without warning, he yanked the amulet hard, making Dean stumble closer, not even giving him time to react before tilting his head up with his other hand and kissing him with a certain ferocity. Dean nearly buckled under the force of it, eager and helpless, with pathetic little whimpers as Sam systematically took him apart with cruel bites at his bottom lip and kitten licks to soothe the stings, the consecutive pain-pleasure of it distracting from how the slow tightening of the thin leather cord around his neck was rendering him breathless.

When Sam let go, Dean gasped, breathing hard, shaking all over with need. At some point, without Dean ever noticing, Sam had walked them to the bed, so when he was aware enough to force his eyes open, he found himself lying on his back, staring up at Sam, who stared back, caught between apologetic and turned on.

“Sorry,” he whispered, fingers gently brushing at what was sure to be a thin line of reddened skin at Dean’s neck.

Dean cleared his throat, quickly tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair and slinging one leg over his waist to keep him from doing something stupid like _moving away_. “Maybe I’ll take it off _later_ ,” he suggested.

Sam laughed, sounding too thick and watery with barely staved-off tears. “Maybe later, yeah.”


	240. Favouritism - We Happy Few

Dean left first to visit Hell.

God- Lucifer refused to call him _Chuck_ \- prepared to send Sam off to Rowena as well, but Sam held up a hand in a gesture to wait.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow curiously. His Father waited.

Sam looked hesitant. “When you sealed Amara away the first time, you gave Lucifer the Mark.”

Dad nodded. Lucifer could already see where this was going.

“So, when you do it again now, someone will have to bear it,” Sam said.

Dad sighed. “Yes. And, I know what you’re thinking, but Dean is already…” He trailed off with a frown. “Wait, that’s not where you were going.”

Sam looked confused, but let it go. “Dean can’t do it. I mean, please,” he pleaded. “Don’t make him do it. I'll take his place if you want me to, but not Dean.”

Sometimes, Lucifer envied the Winchesters more than he hated them. Would Michael ever have offered to take the burden from him, if they’d known what the Mark did?

His Father stared at Sam for a good long minute. “Dean can't take the Mark,” he finally spoke. “Once you've been tainted by it, it refuses to accept you again. I would have approached you, asked for your contribution anyway. But thank you for volunteering, Sam.”

Sam looked almost relieved, like being doomed to a lifetime of darkness and death was preferable to him than watching his brother go through the same. Once upon a time, Lucifer would have understood that sentiment.

“Thank you, Go- uh, Chuck. Thank you,” Sam managed to say and then he was gone.

Lucifer looked down at the table. “I suppose he is your favorite then?” He asked casually. “Sam Winchester?”

“Among the humans, yeah, he really is,” God confirmed. Lucifer could feel his gaze. “However much you hate him and Dean, you have to admit there is a reason Sam is your perfect Vessel.”

_Because he's who I used to be_ , Lucifer thought bitterly. _Because Dean is who Michael used to be._ But he didn’t say any of this, just nodded in farewell and disappeared to Heaven.


	241. All My Life - Alpha And Omega

Crowley snapped them back to Lebanon, right in front of the bunker's entrance. Chuck had sent the car back when they’d holed up in the bar.

Sam stood still, mind and body numb. He didn’t want to go in there, didn’t want to see proof of Dean’s presence, didn’t want to see the jacket he’d left behind draped over a chair, his favorite mug left in the kitchen sink for washing, his clothes hung on the hook behind the door of Sam’s bedroom- the bedroom they’d started to share. Sam wanted to run far, far away from this place they’d called _home_ , just as much as he wanted to somehow crawl out of his own skin, which still bore marks of Dean’s teeth and bruises in the shape of Dean’s fingers, all hidden away under layers of clothes.

There was a hand on his shoulder, cold and light and so obviously not Dean’s, and Sam realized he was crying, chest aching with barely held back sobs.

“Sam,” Cas murmured, stepping closer, like he wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure if he should.

Sam wiped his face quickly, patting Cas' hand. “Come on,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let’s… We need to…” He took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

“Find Dean’s body,” Cas finished for him, speaking gently, as if any amount of gentleness was going to help Sam now.

Sam didn’t know how to live- how to _exist_ without Dean. Not anymore. Hadn’t Dean known that? Or had he expected Cas and the rest of their friends to keep him distracted?

They’d made a promise to each other that night after Sam got shot. Hands clasped, eyes wet, lips on skin- they’d whispered it into the sparse space between them, that they’d never leave each other behind again, that if one went the other would follow, like it or not. 

Had Dean really forgotten that?

And now there was a woman, proud and haughty, pointing a gun at him. And Sam just couldn't bring himself to care. 

“Where’s Dean?” She asked.

“He’s dead.” _You don’t have a right to speak his name._

She didn’t budge, acted like it was something to be celebrated.

Sam hated her already. “Lady,” he taunted, with a confidence he didn’t feel. “You’re not gonna pull that trigger.” _Shoot me, I dare you. SHOOT ME!_


	242. Flounder - Keep Calm And Carry On

Mary stared at her hands and wondered why she couldn’t see the blood on them. She’d really thought she was out. That she could make a life with John and her kids. But here she was, more than thirty years later, and John was dead and her little boys were all grown up.

She studied Dean, who was too steeped in the computer in front of him to notice her scrutiny. He looked more like her, she decided. Her eyes, her mouth, her delicate jaw. But his nose was like John’s, and so was the flint-like hardness to his gaze as he searched for Sam.

_Sam_. What did _he_ look like? Mary considered asking for a photo. But she didn’t really want to. No, she wanted her first glimpse of her baby to be in real-time, when he was standing in front of her.

But she did try to imagine- would he have her and Dean’s green eyes or John’s solid brown? Was he as tall as Dean? Or did she pass on her short genes to him? Did he like classic rock? Did Dean? Had they watched her favorite movies? Had they enjoyed them? 

God, there was so much Mary had missed out on. How was she going to catch up?

Dean caught her eye. She could almost see the effort it took him to stop thinking about Sam for a brief moment and focus on her instead.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, attempting a smile. “Sam is a tough son of a- uh, tough bastard. He’ll be fine. And we’ll get to him soon.”

Mary smiled back and let her worry take over her guilt.


	243. Relapse - Mamma Mia

Sam plopped down beside him on the ground and Dean put the photos aside.

“How you feeling?” He asked in a quiet voice.

Sam stared at him, something raw in his gaze. “I thought you were _dead_ ,” he said, voice shaking. “I thought… I was going to…”

“I know.” Because he did. He knew exactly what Sam had wanted to do and that was why he’d asked Cas to stick by him. “But, hey.” He nudged his shoulder. “I’m okay. And you’re okay.” He hesitated. “ _Are_ you okay?” Because he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the blonde Hulk lady had stuck to physical torture, the marks of which Cas had quickly removed.

Sam snagged his beer bottle, took a large swig. “She made me see stuff,” he said, sounding almost calm. “That sucked, but I was okay. I almost escaped too.”

“What happened?”

Sam shook his head. “She’s _human_ , man,” he laughed without humor. “Sick, sadistic and a _bitch_ , but human. I could have killed her and I let her live. That bit me in the ass half a minute later.”

Dean shook his head. Trust Sam to let his kidnapper and torturer go.

“And then…” Sam whispered, not meeting his eyes. “She made me hallucinate. Made me think that I was in bed with her… That I was in _love_ with her. She made me forget about…” He choked off, unable to finish.

Dean reached over, gripped Sam’s hand before he could dig a nail into it. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. “Stone number one. You’re out, Sammy. We got you out of there. You’re home.”

Sam looked at him, sorrowful. “There was a moment there,” he said softly. “When I thought to myself, _‘Dean will be here soon.’_ And when I remembered, I was…” He trailed off, reaching for Dean instead.

Dean leaned in, but as he drew close enough to feel Sam's breath on his own lips, there was the sound of footsteps.

Both of them jerked away from each other and their mother walked in.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, seeing them. “I'm sorry, uh,” she stammered, Dad’s journal tucked into her elbow. “Just came to put this back.” She gestured to the cup in her other hand, that Sam had taken to her.

“Yeah, it’s okay, Mom,” Sam assured with a smile, pulling his legs in for her to walk across, all signs of distress wiped clean. “Was it okay? Mom? Did I get the sugar right?”

Mom hesitated for just a second, like she was going to lie. Then, she smiled. “One more spoon next time, okay?”

Sam’s smile widened, like he was genuinely glad for the mild critique. “Sure, Mom,” he promised. “Next time.”

She looked at Dean then and he stared back at her, wide-eyed. She smiled at him too. “Don’t eat the leftover pie,” she told him. “Leave some for breakfast.”

Dean followed Sam’s lead, ignored her red-rimmed eyes and hitched breathing. “No promises, Mom.” He wondered if she noticed how often he and Sam were both using the word ‘ _Mom_.’ If she did, she didn’t say anything and they didn’t mention how she intermittently talked to them like they were just kids.

“Goodnight, boys.”

They both waited, quiet and still, until her footsteps faded.

Sam turned to Dean. They studied each other for a while.

“She can’t know,” they both said.

Dean looked away.

“She can’t know, Dean,” Sam repeated by himself. “She wanted a normal life. Now she’s back from the dead and we are…”

“The polar opposite of normal, I know,” Dean agreed. “Hell, we are _completely_ screwed up. _This_ -” He waved a hand between them. “-is _screwed up._ If she finds out…”

“It’ll break her heart,” Sam finished softly.

They both sat in silence for a while.

“You don’t wanna…” Dean hated that he felt the need to ask. “Do you wanna stop?”

Sam looked stricken. “No!” He protested. “Do… You?”

Dean shook his head.

Sam took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay then. We just, we, uh, we don’t tell her. We don’t let her know, we’ll hide it.”

Dean nodded, heart sinking. “Separate rooms?”

Sam nodded too, glumly, like he already knew neither of them would get any sleep like that.

Well, best to rip off the band aid then. Dean got to his feet, offered Sam a hand and pulled him up as well.

“Night, then?” He asked.

Sam took a furtive glance around, then grabbed Dean’s waist, pulling him into a tight hug. Dean hugged back tightly. He’d been wanting to do this since he’d first seen Sam in that basement- chained, covered in blood and filth, nearly delirious and still the best thing in Dean’s world.

“I was so scared I might be too late,” he admitted in a whisper, feeling Sam’s heart beat through their thin tee-shirts. “That I’d got Mom back just to lose you.”

Sam’s breath was warm on his neck. “I know what you mean,” he murmured. He pulled away. “We should go to bed. Alone. In our own rooms.”

Dean nodded. “Night, Sammy.”

Sam smiled, clapped his shoulder once, before walking away. “G’night, Dean.”


	244. Sing Me To Sleep - The Foundry

The metal clanging of the door being shut echoed in the war room. Sam flinched, and he knew Dean hadn’t seen it, because he didn't move to comfort him, or at all. He looked frozen, stuck staring at the table.

_She left_ , Sam thought numbly. _One week and she left._

Dean made a small sound of distress. And even though Sam suddenly really wanted to run after their mother and beg her to come back, he knew it was out of his hands. He moved to Dean instead.

“Dean?” He called, voice small and uncertain.

Dean blinked. “She’s gone. Again.”

Sam sighed. “It’s only temporary,” he promised. He could only hope he was right.

Dean started to turn away. “I’m going to bed.”

Sam panicked, gripped his arm. “Don’t- Dean, please- don’t do this!” He pleaded. “Don’t… She just needs time. Don’t shut me out because she’s acting human.”

Dean looked at him, eyes dark and dangerous. “ _Or_ _what_?” He asked darkly.

Sam shook his head. “I'm not leaving,” he said in a low voice. “I'm _not_.”

Dean’s mouth twisted, like he was trying to hold on to his anger. “Why not?”

Sam tried to smile through the blurriness of his eyes. “Why would I? I've got everything I want right here.”

The anger in Dean’s eyes melted away, leaving only hurt, and he took a shaky breath. “You really think she'll be back?” He asked in a trembling voice.

Sam nodded and hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a lie.


	245. The Phoenix - American Nightmare

When Dean arrived at the little cabin, he found Sam hugging a small girl to himself. She was seventeen, he knew, but she was swaddled in Sam’s jacket and with her pale, tear-streaked face, she looked much younger. Around them, the authorities had already gathered.

She shied away when Dean approached, looking at him in terror, and he stopped a respectful distance away instead of rushing close to check over Sam.

He settled for giving him a visual once-over. “You okay?” He asked.

Sam nodded. He looked tense, his muscles stiff, but his hold on Magda was gentle. “It’s okay,” he spoke to her. “This is my brother, Dean. Back when I could do things like you, he helped me understand that I wasn’t evil because of my powers.” His voice was soft, the kind of compassion that came from empathy.

Magda turned her wide-eyed gaze to Sam. “Can I come with you?” She asked, in a tiny voice. “Please. I won’t hurt anyone, I won’t bother you.”

Sam suddenly looked stricken, torn, very much like he wanted to do what the girl asked and take her home. Dean itched to intervene, but he refrained. This was Sam’s decision.

Magda blinked at his silence. “I can’t read your thoughts.” She sounded both puzzled and apprehensive.

Sam swallowed. “I know, it’s because, like I said, I was like you. So you can’t do anything to me. Or maybe you could, if you were stronger.”

She looked almost hopeful. “So, will you take me with you? Will you teach me?”

Sam shut his eyes for a brief moment. “I can’t,” he told her, apologetic. “Child Services told me you have an aunt. If she’s willing to take you in, then _I_ _can’t_ …”

Magda looked away with a slow nod and Dean’s heart went out to her. She was so used to being denied everything, even the most basic desires, that she didn’t even try to press harder.

Child Services took her, putting shock blankets around her, and cleaning her wounds.

Sam got his jacket back and as they sat in the car, he looked just as gutted as Magda had.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try to bring her with us,” Dean ventured.

Sam slumped in his seat. “She belongs with her family. Her aunt is pretty well off and has another girl. She’ll take better care of Magda than… Than us.”

Dean sighed, hating to see him so dejected. “Yeah. But, maybe, I don’t know... She’s not going to forget you. Man, you saved her.” He nudged Sam’s knee with his own. “Maybe she’ll call. For psychic advice and stuff.”

He sighed too. "Yeah, maybe. I hope."


	246. Sweetie Pie - The One You've Been Waiting For

“May I take your order?”

“I killed Hitler.”

The waitress stared at Dean, who grinned back, unabashed and gleeful. When he didn’t retract his statement or explain it, she turned to Sam with a practiced smile.

“What can I get you, sir?” She asked, polite and sunny.

Sam returned her smile. “Uh, one slice of pie, please.”

“Two!” Dean interrupted.

“ _One_ ,” Sam repeated firmly. “You’re not getting diabetes on my watch. Oh, and pancakes for me, thanks.”

The waitress jotted down their orders. “You guys are a sweet couple,” she laughed. “Your order will arrive in a few minutes.”

When she was gone, Dean kicked his feet under the table. “Hear that, Sammy?” He teased with a grin. “She thinks we're a sweet couple.”

Sam snorted. “What she meant was: one child in a man’s body and one exasperated adult with the patience of a saint.”

Dean put a hand to his heart. “Oh, pumpkin, you hurt me.”

Sam rolled his eyes, as their orders arrived. By the time Sam picked up his fork, Dean was taking his first bite. “Oh _wow_ ,” he expressed in a slightly exaggerated moan. “This really is the best pie for a thousand miles. Sam, _thank you_ for letting me make a pit stop, you are awesome, and if you let me have another slice, I will make your favorite vegetarian dishes all weekend.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Sam said dryly. “And you’re welcome. Anyone ever tell you you’re a cheap date?”

Dean considered it. “Not that I can remember,” he answered semi-honestly. “I’m ordering a whole pie to go.”

Sam rolled his eyes again, eating instead of arguing. Dean didn’t really listen to anyone when it came to food.

The waitress from before spotted them leaving later and waved at them cheerfully.

Dean smirked as they walked into the car. “Ready to go home, sweetie?” He called, deliberately high-pitched and mocking.

Sam resisted the urge to throw something at him. “Call me that again and I will wake you up to go running with me.”

Dean stopped, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”


	247. Strangers - Celebrating The Life Of Asa Fox

Jody would never dream of replacing Mary Winchester, but she’d been mothering Sam and Dean as often as they’d let her for years now, despite their smaller age difference.

So, after she sent Dean out with the promise of lending a ear if needed, she went to find Sam. She found him with an arm around Mary, smiling down at her faintly.

“Sam?” She called. “Could I borrow you for a second?”

With a quick word to Mary, he fell into step beside her as she walked around the house. “Hey. What’s up?”

Jody sighed. “Dean’s not the only one upset about your mom. You wanna talk to me about what’s bothering you?”

Sam looked away and, for a moment, Jody thought he would brush everything off with a wan smile. But instead, his mouth twisted slightly in thought and he spoke. “She hasn’t been texting me.”

Jody tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Dean said she’s been texting us once a week,” Sam said. “I didn’t know about that. I thought she was still on radio silence, mostly. And, I guess…” He sighed. “Dean probably assumed she was texting me too. And, I mean, I _was_ texting her in the beginning, but she never replied. I thought she needed her space, so, uh, I stopped. Didn’t wanna bother her.”

Jody tried to think of an explanation, even knowing she couldn’t. “Maybe…”

“Maybe she feels more comfortable with Dean,” Sam suggested for himself. “Maybe I feel like more of a stranger.”

He sounded utterly dejected and Jody wanted to wrap him up in a blanket, something she was very used to feeling around him and his brother. “She’ll come around.”

Sam simply nodded.


	248. Cat's Out - Rock Never Dies

They were in a shopping complex, of all places. Crowley had dragged them here, saying, “I refuse to let you pretend to be rock stars while dressed as lumberjacks. Feathers is correct on this count. Now, go change into these outfits. I'll take care of the expenses. And, _don’t_ get used to it, this is _not_ becoming a regular thing.”

Now, they were dressed in plain, fitted tee-shirts with a black leather jacket for Dean and a thin, black, button-less blazer for Sam.

Personally, Dean thought he pulled off ‘ _good-looking douchebag_ ' pretty well, and he knew Sam agreed, even if he’d only rolled his eyes at him.

Right now, though, as they waited for Crowley to come back from ‘ _taking care of the expenses_ ', Sam looked stressed again, worrying his nail with his teeth.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Just… Lucifer. You know. It never gets easier.”

Dean looked around on instinct, before remembering that nobody here knew who they were and Crowley was nowhere to be seen. So with two fingers under Sam’s chin to tilt his head, Dean pulled him into a gentle, lingering kiss.

“It'll be over soon,” he assured in a murmur.

They both knew it was a lie, but Sam nodded anyway. He needed a distraction.

Dean kissed him again, putting on a smile. “By the way, you are _definitely_ keeping this blazer.” He winked, over-the-top and ridiculous.

Sam laughed lightly, leaning into him easily.

“Well, well, well.”

They jumped apart, tensing.

Crowley rolled his eyes at them. “Moose and Squirrel finally k-i-s-s-e-d under the tree,” he drawled. “About time.”

“About ti- did you _predict_ this?” Dean demanded.

Crowley scoffed. “Everyone and their mother predicted this. Now come on, we’ll be late for your meeting with Vince’s PR manager.”

He left with a wave, leaving Sam and Dean frozen in their seats.


	249. These High Walls - LOTUS

They were put into separate rooms almost immediately.

The younger brother sat up straight, calm but slightly apprehensive.

“For the last time, Sam,” Agent Andrews said. “Why were you targeting the President? Who are you working for?”

There was no answer. Sam Winchester kept his eyes downcast and gave no sign that he'd even heard.

“The Secret Service searched that room before letting the President in,” Andrews said. “You weren’t there then. So how and when did you get in?”

Dean Winchester didn’t react either. He stared back, expressionless but for the defiant pursing of his lips. He slouched, all easy confidence and nonchalance.

They were left alone. Andrews watched them through the surveillance feeds. The JCTT representative was with him.

On one screen, Dean left his chair, headed to the wall on his right, putting a hand to it. On the other screen, Sam stared at the wall on his left. It was like they knew that _that_ was the structure separating them, that if that wall were broken down, they'd be together.

But that was impossible. They’d been blindfolded from the armored truck to the interrogation rooms. They couldn't possibly know. 

Like it was planned, both Winchesters turned to look straight at the cameras in their respective rooms. The movement was so coordinated that Andrews couldn't stop himself from taking a startled step back. Next to him, the JTTF guy jumped visibly. It was like the two prisoners were looking right through the lens at them.

Andrews grit his teeth, hating the chill that ran down his spine at Dean's cruel glance and Sam’s dead-eye stare.

“I’m telling you,” he spoke, furious to cover up his uneasiness. “Keeping them alive, even in Supermax, is a mistake. We need to get rid of these psychos. _Permanently_.”

JCTT guy refused.

Sam and Dean Winchester were walked towards their cells. They stayed close together, their shoulders brushing, their cuffed hands gently tapping against each other, in what seemed to be Morse but wasn't making sense.

Andrews couldn't resist throwing in a last jibe. “Take a good look at each other, you two. You won't be meeting again for a very long time.” He knew from their files that that was their only real weak spot.

But even so, the only reaction he got was a blank look from both of them. Then they were separated, yanked away from each other, just as Dean dug his nail into Sam’s palm, like a warning or a reminder.

The doors were closed and the Winchesters were locked in for the foreseeable future, kept away from each other by only a few feet of concrete.

Andrews hoped they hadn't just made a mistake.


	250. Connected Inside - First Blood

When the traps were all set, the first aid box positioned close at hand, and three hours left till midnight, Sam finally reached for Dean. There was a burning itch all across his skin, touch-starved for six weeks, and Dean’s calloused hand was like a balm.

But Dean resisted the pull for a second. “Sam,” he warned, but his tone was off, like he was trying to convince himself.

Sam tugged harder. “Please,” he whispered. “Just a minute.”

Dean stayed tense for another moment, then rushed the three steps forward, forcing Sam down into a tight hug. Sam went with it, nearly sighing in relief as he folded into Dean’s arms, years of habit not broken by a month and a half of separation.

Dean pulled back, barely an inch, and leaned their foreheads together. His eyes stayed open, fixed on Sam like he was trying to memorize it again, or looking for changes. Sam knew because he was doing the same to Dean, taking careful note of the rough stubble and the haggard gaze and freckles faded from so long without the sun.

Dean tilted forward, kissed him. They were both dirty, smelled of stale air and sweat and cement, and under normal circumstances, Sam would have pushed him off with a laugh, told him to _“clean up before you come anywhere near me.”_

But now, Sam held him closer, knees buckling in relief, too hungered for Dean’s closeness to care about anything else, every nerve ending in his body buzzing with electricity, like he’d been half dead for six weeks and was only now coming to life. They had a clock ticking above their heads, a clock in the shape of Billie. Come midnight, a Winchester would die and he was already planning the fight in his head, both verbal and physical, that would be needed to put Dean on the ground long enough for Sam to eat a bullet. He knew Dean was doing the same, was thinking of everything he could say, every punch and kick carefully calculated to knock Sam out if required.

Dean let go first, stepping away fast, like he needed the distance to stop himself from touching Sam again.

Sam turned away too, grabbing a rifle and lifting the trap door in the floor.

“Careful out there,” he said, in a low voice.

Dean nodded. “You too.”

They didn’t talk about their impending doom.


	251. Torn - Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets

Castiel had lived for many centuries. He was patient and tolerant and he prided himself on being specially resilient to the Winchesters' personal brand of tenacity.

But at Dean's thirteenth snipe about killing Billie, Cas had had enough.

“Mary is my _friend_!” He snapped. “Saving you two from your stupid deal aside, I was not about to let my friend kill herself for absolutely no good reason.”

Dean visibly faltered, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Well, then, you tackle her and keep her away from anything weaponize-able, so Sam and I could have done what was needed.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

Cas had no sympathy for him; he played therapist for both brothers all the time. Sam could very well be the mediator.

“By that, you mean one of you would have killed yourself that night?” Cas asked, flatly. “Ignoring the fact that you two would likely have engaged in a street brawl- winners takes one for the team- what exactly do you think would have happened after that? That the surviving brother would go on, keep fighting? Wrong. He would have died soon after. Then you would _both_ be in the Empty, as per Billie’s promise. And _then_?” He glared at what he could see of Dean. “Did you think you would be together in that afterlife? _No_. No, the Empty is nothing but _you_ , alone with your thoughts, reliving your worst mistakes and drowning in your own fear and guilt. You wouldn't even know where you _were_ , let alone find each other. Does that sound like something you want, Dean? _Either_ of you? You think you can spend eternity after death alone, when you can barely spend two _days_ apart? When _six weeks_ of separation made you desperate enough to even _consider_ such a foolish deal?”

There was a long silence in the car.

Dean was frozen, only his fingers robotically moving the steering wheel. Sam had turned slightly, was staring at Cas with a conflicted expression.

Cas rolled his eyes. “But sure, Dean,” he muttered sullenly. “ _I_ was the stupid one.”


	252. Drop The Penny, Spill The Beans - Regarding Dean

The pretty man points to himself. “Brother.” He points to the other one. “Witch.”

Well, what do I know? I take his word for it and shoot. The witch dies.

Pretty guy looks… His eyebrows are drawn and his mouth is curved downwards, stretching a near-invisible scar on his lower lip and making it more prominent. _(I can’t remember the word for this expression.)_ I don’t like this look, so I smile at him. He doesn’t smile back.

I jog up the steps. When I reach him, he takes my gun, so swift and quick that it takes me a second to understand. And now, I remember his name. “Sammy.” _(My Sam?)_

He blinks and his eyebrows go back to their normal position. He has another scar on the side of his throat, pearly-white and mostly hidden. He smiles a little now. He looks even prettier, especially with the dimples. “Dean?”

_(Oh)_. Is that my name? He sounds sure, but… Who cares? As long as I know that pretty guy’s name is Sammy. _(My Sam? Yes. My Sam.)_

Something must still be wrong because Sammy sighs. I don’t like that either. It’s making me feel bad. How do I get rid it? I try to think, try to remember, but it’s difficult, it’s been getting tougher by the minute and-

“Rowena, can you fix this now?” Sammy asks.

I’m not sure what needs to be fixed or who Rowena is, and I don’t care, because I think I have a solution to Sammy’s sad face. _(Sad! That’s the word for it!)_

I rise on my toes and I press my lips to his. They’re soft. They feel nice. Sammy puts his hand on my neck and I can feel one more scar on his palm, rougher than the others. That feels nice too, but I wonder why it’s there.

Then Sam pulls away a little. He looks… His eyes are wide, only one eyebrow is raised, his mouth is hanging a little open. _(Afraid? Angry? No, wait. Confused?)_ Did I do something not right? It felt right.

“Sammy?” I ask. It feels like the only word I know how to say. I’m trying but… I can’t understand how to make my tongue form any of my other thoughts. But that’s okay, because Sammy looks like he understands.

He looks behind me.

I look behind me too.

There’s someone else there, with red hair. I think I know her- the woman with the glitter on top of her eyes.

She’s smiling. Well, I think she is. But it looks a little different from Sammy’s. More excited than happy. It’s a little scary.

“Oh, don’t be minding me, Samuel,” she says. “You two can carry on later, I’d love for a show. But I think it’s for the best if I fix the wee big lad first.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about, so I look back at Sammy. He’ll explain.

He looks at me. “You have to go with her,” he says slowly. “She’s going to help you.”

I frown. “Who’s going to help me?” When did I remember how to talk? “Help me with what?”

Sammy looks really sad now and a little scared. A woman appears, sharp featured and red haired. He looks at her.

She looks at me.

“Come along, dearie,” she says. “I've got a little something for you.”

I don't want to go with her. “But, what about… Sammy?” I look back at him.

He nods. His eyes look watery. “Go with her.”

I trust him, I think. I trust this pretty guy.

The woman pulls me along the hallway. “You'll be back with your brother in a minute,” she promises. “And then, you can convince Samuel to give me that show we were just talking about.”

I have a brother? That's nice, I think. But I wonder who's Samuel? Is he someone important?

The woman starts to chant. I think about a beautiful person who looks at me with love. Then the room turns purple.


	253. Confessions - Stuck In The Middle (With You)

Dean strong-armed Cas into resting, telling him he needed time to heal.

Sam buried his head in his arms at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of yellow eyes and magical lances and Ramiel's accusation of a stolen object.

“Hey, that was pretty awesome,” Dean’s voice reached him, along with his footsteps.

Sam loved that he walked with loud steps so as not to startle him.

“That spin-thing you did to get the lance and stab the guy? Ballet-worthy, man, I'm telling you.”

“Shut up.” Sam kept his head down to hide a smile. Despite the multitude of things going on in his head, he felt mostly relaxed. Cas was alive, Ramiel was dead, the British Men Of Letters hadn’t bothered them in a while. Yeah, he was relaxed. Mostly.

Then, Dean’s hand was tangling in his hair and tugging and Sam felt the remaining tension slide out of his body, leaving him as limp as a noodle. “Oh god, don't stop that,” he said, voice gone breathy.

Dean chuckled. “If this is the reaction pulling your hair gets, remind me of it if I ever tell you to cut it again.”

Sam just hummed, too lost in the relief that came from Dean's rough fingers pressing firmly along his hairline.

“Hey, about that memory spell thing two weeks ago…”

Sam stiffened. He'd laughed about it while sending Rowena off after she'd helped them, but he’d also woken up from nightmares where he kept calling Dean's name, only to have Dean look at him blankly and ask, _Who’re you?_

“I found a note in my jacket from that day,” Dean went on.

Sam straightened, dislodging Dean's hand. Dean stepped away, walked around to take the chair across.

“What note?” Sam asked warily.

In response, Dean passed him a piece of motel stationary from his pocket. Sam unfolded it, his heart skipping several beats and then running at double speed when he read it. It was a date, the date of the incident, followed by one sentence, all in Dean’s handwriting: _Tell him(Sammy?) I love him._

Sam swallowed dryly, looked at Dean.

He was carefully inspecting his nails. “We don't really say it, do we? Because I guess we never really needed to. But… I think, sometimes, we should have, once or twice, over all the crap we’ve been through. Or, maybe not, I don't know, I just…” He cut himself off with a frustrated intake of breath. “Cas almost died today and everything he said got me thinking, with our track record and our, you know, communication problems, which are definitely getting better, but still, I don't wanna… I don't want something to happen one day and realize at the last second, that I never got to say it. Morbid as hell, I know, but-”

“I love you,” Sam blurted out.

Dean blinked.

Sam cringed. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, go on.”

“Um, no, it’s okay, that was, uh, pretty much it,” Dean mumbled. “Kinda stole my line, though.”

“Sorry.”

“Right.” Dean blinked again. “I love you too.”

Sam nodded, feeling weirdly light and airy.

Dean took a deep breath, got to his feet. “Mom went off. Cas wouldn’t notice or be curious. So… Bed?”

Sam felt himself smile, slow and a little giddy, as he stood and took Dean's hand. “Bed.” He twined their fingers.

Dean rolled his eyes visibly, muttering under his breath about chick-flick-loving little brothers, but he didn't pull his hand away and he’d been the one to initiate a chick-flick moment not half a minute ago, so Sam knew he liked it just as much.


	254. Walk Of Shame - Family Feud

“Okay, seriously, what was that witch talking about?” Dean demanded in a hiss as Rowena chatted amicably with her grandson. “What does _‘you owe me a show, Samuel’_ even mean? Have you been cheating on me or something?”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean took offense at that, thank you very much.

“Yes, Dean, I’ve been cheating on you with a 300 year old witch who’s always ready to turn me into an actual moose, by her own admission,” he intoned dully.

Dean scowled. “Like mother, like son,” he muttered.

Sam sighed. “Anyway, what she meant was, uh…” He laughed nervously, tapping his thumb against his knee. “When you’d been hit by that memory spell, after you killed the witch, you sorta kissed me.”

Dean blinked. He hadn’t been lying when he said he couldn’t remember anything from that one day of Bourne Identity. “Okay, so Dory-me thought you were really hot stuff for some reason and couldn’t resist laying one on ya. What’s that got to do with…?” He faltered, trailing off. Rowena had been there to help that day, he recalled. “Are you saying-” he said in a hushed whisper. “-that she was _there_? She _saw_ us kiss?”

Sam nodded.

“So she knows too?!”

He nodded again.

Dean looked over at the reunited grandmother and grandson. Rowena caught her eye, gave him a wink and a slow smirk.

Dean wanted to bury his head in the sand. “Crowley _and_ Rowena?” He groaned. “Son of a bitch.” Sam mockingly patting his back didn’t help much .


	255. Back Again - The Raid

As the meeting came to an end, Mary watched her son, remembering the last time she’d seen him. The stiffness to his shoulders that had been there since he'd arrived, the mask firmly stretched over his features, the careful blankness in beautiful eyes that were just like her own mother's.

Mary couldn’t read him, not an ounce, and it hurt, because he was her _son_ , but she felt like she was looking at a stranger, unlike Dean, whom she thought she could understand and even relate to. But Sam… Maybe it was her own fault, for not reaching out, not making an effort, not even working up the courage to properly reply to the texts he’d sent her months ago. He’d stopped after some time, like he realized that she didn’t know what to say to him, despite the hurt she’d spotted in his eyes at Asa's funeral.

In a roundabout way, it made her love him more, as well as make her sadder. Her baby had grown to be the kindest and most inherently good person she knew in this world and she hadn’t even been there to watch it happen.

It was also how Mary knew that Sam would forgive her for almost anything. Dean loved her too, but he idolized her, had done so for his whole life, elevating her to the perfect mother. If she fell in his eyes, which she had, she’d need to work for his forgiveness. But Sam saw her as a person. He understood her more than he loved her, she could see that now. Because he was here, offering her a chance at winning him over.

Did she even deserve this?

“Thank you for giving me this chance, Sam,” she said quietly.

Sam turned to her. Guarded. “You’ve been hunting since you were a kid too,” he said, just as quietly. “Almost as long as Dean and I. I’m trying to trust your instincts, I guess, and…” He shrugged, trying for a smile. “We work with witches and demons already. So, why not these guys?”

Mary couldn’t help smiling at him. “And… And, Dean?”

Sam’s face darkened, just a shade. “You hurt him, Mom,” he told her, tone firm and brokering no protest. “He was right. You have been avoiding us, and you haven’t been giving us a chance. Now? He needs his space.” He paused. “That’s another reason why I’m here, I guess.”

Mary raised an eyebrow in question.

He sighed. “Dean is… He holds a grudge. He’s not gonna reach out to you, he’s not gonna listen to you until he feels like you’ve groveled enough, and it’s making him miserable. I can’t see him like this and…” He sighed again.

Mary could tell each word he spoke was calculated, carefully thought out to tell her what she needed to know and keep everything else hidden.

“He’s mostly upset on _my_ behalf. He sees it as a betrayal that you’re working with the people who tortured me for two days straight. So… He might eventually _forgive_ you, but he won’t really get over it until I do.” Sam swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. “So, I’m here, trying to get over it.”

Mary turned away, blinking away the tears that were threatening to spill. “I am sorry, Sam,” she said. She didn’t call him _Sammy_ anymore. The one time she had, Sam had painfully smiled and asked her not to. “I shouldn’t have lied and I wish to God I could kill that woman for touching you. But, these guys, they’re not all like that. And… They are doing good work. You said it yourself. You can see-”

“Mom, I know.” Sam nodded, patting her arm awkwardly. “It’s okay. I get it. And, I’ll get Dean to come around.”

Mary nodded, clasping the top of his hand. “Thank you.”


	256. Mess - Between Heaven And Hell

When he was done talking to Mick, Dean was still staring at him, eyes hooded and unreadable.

Sam licked his lips nervously. “He, uh…” He cleared his throat. “He wants to meet us. At their base.”

Dean pursed his lips, swallowed all the whiskey in the glass in one go.

Sam cringed.

“Tell ‘em we’ll come over tomorrow.”

Sam nodded, texting Mick the answer.

Dean poured out another glass of whiskey, offering it to him. Sam took it, running a hand through his hair before downing it quickly. He’d always preferred scotch.

“I have one question,” Dean said.

Sam waited.

“Are you really okay with this?”

Sam thought back to what he’d said to their mom right after the briefing two weeks ago. That Dean would never agree to this if he didn’t think Sam was okay with it. So he fixed a look of confidence on his face. “Yeah, I am. And we won’t be working with Ketch. Just Mick. He’s actually kinda nice.”

Dean’s expression didn’t change. He nodded absently, watching Sam. “Okay, then.” He didn’t give Sam a chance to say anything more before turning and walking away.

Sam sighed, placing his palms on the table and leaning his weight on it. God, he hoped he hadn’t messed things up. Had he?


	257. Green-Eyed Monsters - Ladies Drink Free

Dean watched with a deep scowl as, across the table, Mr British Bake-Off leaned in close to Sam, pointing something out in the book he was reading. Sam leaned in automatically, eyes lighting up the way they always did when he learned something new. They were talking in low, hushed tones- Sam obviously excited while Mick seemed somewhere between amused and infatuated.

Dean snorted quietly. His Highness was carrying a torch and Sam was unconsciously fanning the flames.

Finally, when Sam turned back to the book and Mick’s eyes wandered to his broad shoulders with an all too appreciative gaze, Dean had had enough.

With careful aim, he lightly kicked Captain Britain’s knee. He looked up, puzzled, eyebrows raised in question.

Dean narrowed his eyes subtly. Never breaking contact, he tilted his head towards Sam slightly, then slowly held up a fork and twirled it in his fingers, before viciously stabbing his pancakes.

Mick swallowed, straightening and shifting away from Sam. His face underwent an interesting transformation from realization to embarrassment to fear. He looked down quickly, focusing on his tea.

Sam remained oblivious and focused on his book and Dean easily returned to enjoying the scenery and his breakfast.


	258. Strain - The British Invasion

Mick offered to get the refill.

Sam studied his brother, sitting beside him. Dean wasn’t even halfway drunk yet, but Mick barely looked tipsy and Sam considered advising Dean to concede defeat.

Except Dean hadn’t been very… Forthcoming, the past week, ever since Sam had admitted to being in touch with the Brits.

“Are you pissed at me?” He finally asked.

Dean looked at him through slightly glazed eyes. “Should I be?”

Sam felt his mouth twist unhappily. “You tell me. You’ve barely touched me for the last few days. And ever since the werewolf case, you’ve been… Stand-off-ish. So, if you are pissed, just tell me. ‘Cause the silent treatment is getting old.”

Dean rolled his eyes, pointedly turning away. 

Sam swallowed, irrational fear settling in his stomach and making him feel sick. “Dean?” He tried again. “Seriously. If I did… Did I do something wrong?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Mick walked in then, carrying a bottle. “Ah, found it. It was a bit hidden amongst the other bottles.”

Dean made an appreciative sound, deftly catching the filled glass Mick slid towards him and taking a sip in one smooth movement.

Sam looked away, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “None for me, thanks. I’m just… Gonna head to bed.”

“Of course,” Mick said, getting to his feet again. “Have a good night, Sam. See you in the morning.”

Sam could feel Dean’s eyes boring into the back of his neck as he walked out. It took everything he had not to look back. Hopefully, Dean would soon tell him what was wrong. In the meantime, he could keep trying to convince himself that he wasn't at fault.


	259. Initialed Hearts - The Memory Remains

When the drinks were cleared away, Sam still looked closed-off and mellow. Like he had when Dean had gone off with Carmen the day before. Guilt churned up in Dean’s stomach. He was being unfair.

“Sam, hey,” he called, before Sam could run off to hide in the library. “Look, man, about yesterday, the waitress, I…”

Sam looked ready to run. “You don't have to explain-”

“Nothing happened,” Dean told him. “It was…” He shook his head. “We went over to her place and, and I couldn’t do it, I was… I just couldn’t.”

Sam stared. “You said you had an awesome night.” He sounded unsure, hesitant.

Dean sighed. “And it was. We got a little drunk, watched bad TV, she bitched about her douche-ex, I gushed about my slightly-less-handsome, extremely nerdy, amazingly smart partner who I was trying to make jealous.” He said the last part with a winning smile, like it would appease Sam.

But Sam narrowed his eyes instead. “What do you mean?”

Dean shut his eyes, rubbing at his jaw. “Look, I was being stupid,” he said quietly. “Really stupid. I was pissed off at you, I lied when I said I wasn’t. You know, first Mom was lying to us, then you were lying to me, then Mick was flirting with you, then Eileen was flirting with you, and you didn’t even notice and it was driving me crazy and…” He took a deep breath. “I was just trying to get back at you. I thought you’d come and stop me from leaving with her. It was a dick move either way and I’m sorry.”

For a few seconds, Sam stared at him, jaw slack like he wasn’t sure if he was hearing right. Then, he swallowed. “You’re a jerk,” he said in a tight voice. “You’re just… Such an absolute jerk.”

Dean nodded.

“I already apologized for lying, I told you, I was just looking for the right time to tell you.”

“I know. And I get it.”

Sam shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Actually a relief,” he mumbled.

Dean frowned. He didn't think he was meant to hear that. “A relief?” He questioned. “What did you think was going on?”

Sam laughed nervously, not quite looking at him. “Doesn't matter. I was wrong, thank god.”

Something else occurred to Dean. “Hey, why did you let me leave with Carmen? Why didn't you stop me?”

Sam’s lips thinned.

“Sam…?”

“I thought you were getting bored,” he finally said. “Of me, I mean. I thought…”

“Sammy!” Dean exclaimed, suddenly alarmed. Christ, he’d done worse than he thought if that's the road Sam's thoughts had gone down. “How could you- I- why would you think that?” He stepped forward, grabbing Sam’s wrists.

Sam worried at his lower lip for a moment, before dragging his eyes away from the floor to meet Dean’s gaze. “I was being stupid,” he muttered, echoing Dean’s words.

For a few seconds, they stared at each other. Then Sam leaned down quickly, kissed him short and sweet. “We're idiots.”

Dean leaned in, not able to hide a small smile. “Sounds about right,” he mumbled.


	260. Chances - The Future

Sam woke first, limbs locking instinctively as he opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. There was a stabbing pain behind his eyes, reminding him of what exactly had happened.

“Dean,” he groaned, rolling over to find Dean collapsed next to him, eyes just beginning to flutter. “Dean, hey.” He helped Dean sit up, sliding a hand behind his head and one on his shoulder.

Dean leaned against him, forehead digging into Sam’s collar as he breathed in deeply. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Peachy,” Dean spat out, straightening. “Tell me that dick didn’t take Baby again.”

Sam looked up at the Impala, gleaming under the soft streetlights. “She’s here.”

“Good for him,” Dean muttered darkly. He leaned into Sam again, too tired to keep up the facade of not needing support.

Sam obliged gladly, legs bent awkwardly as he held Dean’s shoulders loosely. He resisted the urge to nuzzle Dean's hair. That would only invite teasing. 

“I’m gonna murder that son of a bitch,” Dean finally growled. “He tricked me, stole the Colt, stole my car, knocked us both unconscious, all in one day. I’m gonna... Eviscerate him!”

Sam took a deep breath. Dean had been right, when he’d accused Sam of playing the middle. But someone had to. And Sam wasn’t going to let Dean push away the very few people they had left, not when it would only end in hurting Dean more than anyone else. And Cas had been their friend for longer than most, no matter what mistakes he’d made. But right now Sam was pissed off too. The interference shtick could come later.

“I didn’t know you knew that word,” he said instead, teasing.

Dean stiffened, like he knew what Sam was trying to do. Then he relaxed and pushed away from Sam. “I read,” he answered primly, getting to his feet and helping Sam up.

They trudged over to the car, settling in with twin grunts of pain.

“Headache?” Den questioned, rubbing his own temples. 

“Yep.”

“I'm gonna kill him,” Dean repeated.

Sam didn’t reply. His head really did hurt. Maybe a little evisceration wouldn’t hurt.


	261. Living For You - Twigs And Twine And Tasha Banes

Dean woke up from dreams of wooden dolls, Alicia Banes, Sam with blank eyes and a knife sticking out from his chest. Except, Sam was right beside him in bed, laying on his stomach, one hand tucked under the pillow, and, even in the dark, Dean could easily find his face and stroke a finger along the delicate jaw. 

Sam had been hit in the head, then finally fell asleep from exhaustion after having spent Chuck knew how many nights without any sleep, poring over Nephilim lore, figuring out their gestation periods, trying to find a way to track them, trying to find a way to track Cas without having any of his Grace at hand. 

After Dean figured that out and was satisfied that there was no concussion, he’d decided Mom’s problem could wait until tomorrow. “You need to sleep,” he’d said, pushing Sam into their room. “I know you think insomnia is your natural state, but that’s not healthy and, believe it or not, you’re actually 100% human, with slight enhancements. You need sleep.”

“Slight enhancements?” Sam had echoed, voice muffled where he got his tee-shirt tangled up in the process of taking it off. “What am I, X-Men?”

“Whatever you say, Professor X.”

Now, Dean reached to switch on the lamp behind Sam. The yellow light illuminated his bare skin, making it appear golden and silky. Dean closed his eyes for a second, thinking of Max, his broken expression as they’d left him behind to burn the bodies of his sister and mother. They’d advised him not to do anything stupid, but somehow, Dean knew, that Max hadn’t heeded them. 

Not that Dean could blame him. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the form of his brother. The thin waist and the sharp jut of his hipbones, the moles scattered over his back, the jagged scar that ran over the curve of his right shoulder, the smooth and pearly one over his carotid artery, which he’d always refused to tell Dean about, except that he’d gotten it during the weeks they’d spent apart after River Pass, Colorado, all the way back during the first Apocalypse. Somehow, when Cas had brought him back from the Cage and all his scars had been removed, that one had remained. Dean never asked about it anymore. It looked self-inflicted and he was just enough of a coward not to want to know about it. 

Dean’s fingers twitched and he reached forward, skimming a hand down the expanse of skin, stopping at the small of his back. The scar from the stab wound that had first taken Sam’s life at Cold Oak had been gone for years as well, after the Cage. It had been replaced since by countless other marks. Dean could still find the exact spot it had been, nestled right between the dimples at the bottom of his spine. 

Sam shifted, eyes fluttering open at the light touch. “D'n?”

“Shh. Sleep.” 

Sam complied and Dean moved closer, pulling the covers over them, curling his fingers over Sam’s hand, rubbing the callouses over his knuckles, and went back to sleep, praying he wouldn’t have any more nightmares. 


	262. Close Your Eyes - There's Something About Mary

There were things Mary didn’t think about, things she’d heard from other hunters during her time away from her boys, before joining the Brits.

Now, at the mercy of the dangerous hands of Toni Bevell, all of that came rushing back into memory.

_Those boys, never did see any brothers as close as them._

_T'was a time when any hunter would have taken a shot at either of the boys, try to get them off the playing field. Know better now._

_No hunter’s stupid enough to go after ‘em. You hurt one, the other hurts you. You hurt ‘em both, they’ll walk it off like it was nothing._

_Something ain’t right about those two. The way they look at each other- it’s unholy._

“You’ve seen it, haven’t you, Mary?” Toni asked, almost matter-of-fact. “How there’s something very un-brotherly between those two?”

_Yes_ , Mary thought. She’d seen it, had seen _them_. She’d seen Dean’s hand sink into Sam’s hair and tugging, less teasing and more sensual. She’d seen Sam fingers close protectively around Dean’s wrist, stroking the skin in a gesture of comfort. Little things, when they thought she wasn’t looking. She’d always turned away, averting her eyes and telling herself it wasn’t real.

But she shook her head now. “No,” she protested in a groan, trying to fight the fog from whatever spell Toni was working on her. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She could hear Toni’s tongue click in disappointment. “Now, now, Mary,” she scolded gently, almost lovingly. “Admit it. To yourself at least. What those men are, it’s all because of you. Own up to it.”

“Please,” Mary begged on a sob. But Toni was relentless and she was forced to think about how both boys were never more than a foot apart, never for more than half a day, the way they constantly had eyes on each other, how they were both always attuned to each other.

_Nothing but sinners and blasphemers, those two._

_John did his best by those boys, but he couldn’t protect them from themselves or from each other._

_In this life, ya take what you can get. The Winchesters? They got each other. Folks would do well to leave ‘em be._

_Your sons are soulmates, Mary. They share a heaven._

“No,” she whispered, only this time it was a plea, because this couldn't be real, it couldn't, she couldn't take it if it was. “No.”

Toni’s smile was cruel. “Yes.”


	263. Murder-Crazy Lunatics - Who We Are

Sam dragged Toni out, her hands still in demonic cuffs. Dean had the car ready, was standing beside it. Seeing him- bloody, dirty, _alive_ \- Sam felt high.

He shoved Toni off, reached for Dean, slamming him against the car and kissing that maniac grin off his stupid face, still gorgeous underneath the evidence of what they’d just been through. He ignored Toni's comically scandalized gasp, instead focusing on not hurting Dean further as he licked into his mouth, tasting the blood and soot.

Dean’s laughter thrummed into his chest. “That was crazy,” he whispered, breaking away barely an inch, fingers tight in Sam’s hair. “That was so crazy, Sammy.”

Sam laughed too, bright and breathy and a little unhinged, because damn it, they’d earned this. “ _We’re_ crazy,” he corrected, panting harsh against Dean’s lips, pressing into him, bending him back against the car. “We’re _alive_!”

Toni’s voice broke through the euphoria, reminding them of their impending task. “Oh, I can’t believe this!” She exclaimed, words brimming with disgust. “I thought they were just exaggerated stories, but you two are truly the most depraved, sick, perverted-”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, words lazy and drawling as he barely glanced at the company. “When we’re done, I wanna be the one to shoot her.” There was a hatred burning up in his chest, fueled by adrenaline and serotonin and a need for vengeance. They both knew that when the time truly came, he might not follow through, might not be the one to pull the trigger, would hand over the courtesy to his brother.

But right now, it was just words and it was worth it to have Dean latch onto his lips again, fast and messy, before pulling away with a cold gleam in his eyes. “So long as I get to watch.”


	264. Secrets And Lies - All Along The Watchtower

As they cleaned, Sam called, “Hey.”

Dean looked up from where he was adjusting Toni Bevel's dead body in their trunk. Ketch's body was in their mom’s car. They didn’t have the time to build pyres, with Lucifer’s kid on the way. Dumping them into the river would hopefully be good enough. It was all they deserved anyway. “What?”

Sam reached into the Impala's glove box, bringing out two guns. “Found ‘em. They’d kept them in the storage rooms.”

He handed the Colt to Dean, tucking his own Taurus back into his jacket.

Dean ran his fingertip down the engravings on the barrel. Then, he stepped closer to Sam, looking up at him. Sam gripped his waist automatically and the only reason Dean didn’t lean in was because he’d have trouble moving away later and they really didn't have the time. But he did let the relief wash over him, the relief that Sam came back after all.

“You’re never going anywhere alone again,” he said firmly.

Sam smiled wanly, like he understood how scared Dean had been that the hug at Jody’s place might have been their last. “That’s impractical,” he pointed out. “But okay.”

Dean blinked. “That was easy,” he observed warily. “I thought there would be more arguments.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, positions reversed, I don’t know if I would have been able to stay back and let you go off to fight, injuries be damned. So…”

Dean privately thought about how much that decision had torn him up on the inside. Sam, reading his mind, placed a hand on his cheek.

“So, yeah,” he went on. “No more separating. For mental health reasons.”

Dean turned his head, kissing his palm. “Mental health,” he agreed.

“Boys.”

They jumped apart, panic threading into their veins at being caught. Their mother stood at the top of the steps of the garage, staring at them, almost sadly.

“Mom, we, uh...” Sam stammered.

Dean was frozen, wondering if they were about to held to a choice. Mom or each other. Well, he knew what his choice was and he was just as confident about Sam’s. But the thought of losing their mother, again, so soon after…

“No, Sam, there’s no need,” mom interrupted, shaking her head. “I don’t… I don’t need to hear it. I don’t like it, I never would have wanted this, but I get it, I swear I do, and…” She pursed her lips, looking away, blinking fast. “As long as you know what you’re doing. As long as you’re… Happy.”

Sam looked stunned. Dean tried to speak, found he couldn’t.

Mom looked back at them, trying for a smile. Her chin was trembling. “Just… Don’t let me catch you. You might be adults, but I can still ground you both.” Her breath hitched, ger voice shook. 

Dean knew she wouldn’t accept comfort from either of them right now. So, he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thanks, mom,” he whispered.

Sam nodded along, lips moving soundlessly. 

Mom took a deep breath. “Come on,” she said, voice husky. “We’ve got a Nephilim to find.”


	265. Children's Work - Lost And Found

Sam sat down next to Jack, letting Dean wait by the car.

“Could I have healed Clark?” He asked without preamble.

Sam sighed, unsure of how to comfort the boy. “Most likely, yeah,” he said quietly. “But you can’t control it yet. So, maybe, it’s for the best that you didn’t try to.”

“Will he be alright?”

Sam looked towards the ambulance fading into the distance. “Yeah, don’t worry. The angel- she didn’t hit anything important.”

Jack turned to him, wide eyes looking bluer in the sunlight. Sam thanked Chuck and every deity he could think of that the kid looked nothing like any of Lucifer's vessel. He took after Kelly, through and through, and his innocence was a mirror of Castiel’s.

“What do I do now?” He asked, voice small and hesitant and scared. There was no way to miss the way his eyes flicked over to Dean, like he was trying to gauge the danger.

Sam looked back too, found Dean decidedly turned away from them. “Dean isn’t going to hurt you,” he told Jack, confident. He knew he was right. Dean’s trigger finger might be twitching like crazy around the kid, but as long as Sam asked him to, he would wait. And Sam knew- no idea how, he just did- that he could help Jack. They had failed to save Cas. Sam wasn’t going to disregard the last thing their friend had wanted: for this child to have a life. Dean was just gonna have to see it his way.

“Will you protect me?” Jack asked.

Sam almost laughed. One of the most powerful being in the universe, maybe even equal to Chuck and Amara, was asking him for protection. “Yeah, I will,” he assured.

Jack looked puzzled. “Castiel was supposed to protect me, but… He was my father.” He peered at Sam curiously. “Does this mean you’re my father now?”

Sam felt himself jerk back slightly, like the idea was a physical shove to his cognitive abilities. He had no idea how to answer that.

So, instead, he smiled tightly and clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “We need to go and build a pyre. For… For both your parents.”

Jack looked even sadder, like he was buying into Dean’s line of thought, like he believed that Kelly and Cas' deaths had been on him.

But he also looked hopeful, glad to be invited, and he easily followed Sam towards the car.


	266. Childish - The Rising Son

Jack tried to breathe. _In and out_ , he told himself. It was easy. Calming. Even though he found he could go without taking a breath for a long time. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Sam and Dean about that though. Dean might see it as another reason to kill him and that would make Sam sad and that would make Dean even angrier and Jack might only be a few days old, but he already knew he didn’t want to see Dean angry or Sam sad. It made him feel terrible.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the smooth skin of his chest, unmarred, with no evidence of the numerous times he’d stabbed himself. He looked down at the tee-shirt in his hand. Its front was shredded, unwearable. And yet, not a single mark on his body.

Slowly, Jack turned away from the mirror, walked to the bed. He sat down on it gingerly, testing the feel of the mattress. It was softer than the ones in the motel. It was definitely more comfortable than the car.

Was he supposed to sleep now? He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d slept on the drive two nights ago and he didn’t feel even a little tired now. He also wasn’t entirely sure he liked sleeping all that much. The idea of his body laying limp and helpless, while his mind was trapped in some sort of unreal haze, was… Disturbing, to say the least.

Maybe he could go see Sam? Sam had told him to come find him if Jack needed anything. Maybe he could…

No, Sam was human. He would be tired. Jack didn’t want to disturb him and risk making him upset. But Sam was… His father? Jack had asked, but Sam hadn’t really answered. Friend, then. Sam was his friend. That’s what Clark had called it.

Jack sighed, carefully laying down on the pillows. Maybe he should try to sleep anyway. He could figure out how to be friends with Dean tomorrow. Sam would help him, he was sure.


	267. Fracture - Patience

Dean’s sleep was fitful, even before he woke, like his subconscious could tell that Sam wasn’t near him. He'd grown accustomed to sleeping next to Sam, had let himself be spoilt by the luxury of being able to reach out and touch him when he needed to.

Now, as he opened his eyes to pitch black and an empty bed, he peered at the digital clock. 3:19 AM.

Where the hell was Sam?

Tired and aching all over, Dean got to his feet, padding along the hallway silently until he got to his old room. He didn’t sleep there anymore, after having dragged the memory foam to Sam’s room despite Sam’s protest. He only used this room when he was brooding or when their friends were staying over. He knew Sam wouldn’t be in there; after all, Jack didn’t know anything about anything, so there was no real need for them to pretend.

So, he moved on, resisting the urge to call Sam’s name. The war room was empty. Dean’s eyes moved without his permission to the stairs, leading up to the door. A trickle of fear ran down his spine. Sam wouldn’t have left, right? Of course, he was pissed off at Dean, but… But he wouldn’t leave. _Would he?_

Before he could panic, he spotted Sam’s laptop left on map table. _Okay_. So, he was still here.

He resumed walking. Finally, he found Sam in the library. He was curled up in the arm chair, the only one big enough for his overgrown frame. There was a book nestled in the cradle of his arms, a pen dangling between his fingers, his eyes closed. Dean watched him for a few seconds.

In the opposite chair, there was Jack, with another book in his lap, frozen, as he stared at Dean. 

Try as he might, Dean couldn’t help the dark curl of satisfaction at the fear evident in those wide baby blues. 

But he thought about how Sam was comfortable enough, _trusting_ enough, to fall asleep around the literal son of Satan and the satisfactory feeling was empty in the face of that.

Sam was too attached to this kid. It wasn’t just about his usefulness. Maybe it never had been. Dean couldn’t bear to watch that blind trust bite him in the ass. And it would. Without a doubt.

Dean swallowed. No way was he leaving Sam alone with the son of Lucifer when all his defenses were down. Without a word to Jack, he settled into the one of the wooden chairs at the table, picking out a random book from the shelves and began to read.


	268. Pain, You Made Me A Believer - The Big Empty

_Keep the faith._

Sam stared into nothing, Dean's words circling his head. It sounded so simple. _Keep the faith._ So easy to say.

There was a growing pit in his stomach and he couldn't tell yet if it was a vacuum or a landfill. Was it empty or overflowing? Did he feel blankness or overwhelmed?

Ever since their mutual outburst at Mia Vallen's office, he’d had this sense of helplessness. There were so many problems: Dean’s anger and misery, Jack’s power and guilt, Cas' death, mom being trapped with Lucifer, the potential of Asmodeus causing more trouble…

If Sam could fix even just _one_ of these problems, things would be better, maybe. It had to start with Dean. Just… One really good thing to get Dean back on track and everything else would fall into place. He was sure of it.

Sam had a sudden inkling that there was something wrong. With _him_. And if he put thought to it, he could probably figure out what it was, old psychology classes resurfacing in memory. But he couldn’t. Not now.

_Keep the faith. For both of us. ‘Cause right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing._

No, he couldn’t afford to think about his own problems right now. Not when Dean's words made it so clear that Sam was the only thing left for him to have faith in. Not when Jack was clearly so dependent on him for answers and for help.

Fine, then. Sam would carry on for all of them, for now. He’d done it before. It was how he and Dean worked. If one of them was down, the other had to get them back on their feet. He could do this. And later, when everything was how it was supposed to be, then he’d get around to righting himself.

Until then… _Keep the faith._


	269. Don't Leave - Advanced Thanatology

The ride back to their motel was silent. Sam drove, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, not saying a word. Dean didn’t say anything either. To an outsider, Sam would seem upset or hurt. Dean knew better. Sam was _angry_. The kind of angry he used to get when fighting Dad, when fighting Dean, when staring down Gordon Walker. The kind of angry he never let himself be anymore, not even after the Gadreel fiasco, or Dean’s Mark-infused dickishness, or Eileen's death.

The second they entered their room, Sam was kicking the door shut and grabbing his arm. Dean felt his back hit the wood, the breath knocked out of him, Sam’s hands fisted in his jacket. Dean ignored the sharp throb at the back of his head. He looked up at his brother. Sam was glaring down at him, towering over him with the beginnings of a furious snarl curling the edge of his lips.

Any sane person would be trembling at the knees now, praying for mercy. But they were both wired a little wrong, so what Dean felt was calm and a little inappropriately turned on, knowing that after the dying act he’d just pulled, he deserved, at the very least, a busted lip and a few broken teeth. And the way Sam was looking at him right now, all fire and fury, he was seriously considering it. Even if he actually wouldn’t. Because he never had.

And that, really, was the last sign Dean needed. Something was wrong with Sam. It had been there for some time now. The dogged determination to look after Jack. The skipping of dinner last night and breakfast this morning, then only a salad at lunch. The little ways in which he tried to appease Dean, but his heart hadn’t really been in it, like he couldn’t focus, because, really, strip clubs? Sam knew him better than that. No, something was wrong with him. And now this… _Rage_.

“How many more of those shots do you have?” Sam asked.

“One pair in my duffel,” Dean murmured. “Three more back home.”

“You’re gonna get rid of those, while I’m watching,” Sam told him, voice low and strict. It was an order, not a request, and Dean, twenty years of dad’s conditioning just under the surface, nodded automatically, responding to the command as easily as he had to John’s.

But this wasn’t his dad, it was _Sam_. And Sam was… Nothing like dad. Not anymore. And thank God too, because Dean hadn’t been very good at handling that hot-headed, revenge-thirsty twenty-two year old.

Luckily, Sam seemed to dislike that version of himself as well because, suddenly, it all melted away, just like that. Dean watched, maybe a little envious of the unbelievable control it took, as Sam closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, reining in the anger and locking it all away. His fists opened, flattening out on Dean’s chest.

He backed off, turning around with his fingers pressed to his forehead, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Dean felt guilty now, regret hitting him hot and hard. He remembered the look on Sam’s face when he’d woken up at the Meadow House, that look that said, “You’re alive” and “Don’t do that again” and “You selfish jerk” all at the same time.

It had been selfish, Dean knew that. And maybe, a small part of him hadn’t wanted to wake up. But looking at Sam now, Dean couldn’t find that part.

He wanted to apologize, opened his mouth to do so. But the words were stuck in his throat, blocked by the knowledge that it wouldn't make anything better.

Sam didn’t say anything either, just shrugged off his jacket and headed to the shower, leaving Dean slumped against the door for a few more minutes.

Later that night, Sam, much to Dean’s surprised relief, crawled in next to him and held him tightly against his chest, like he was making sure Dean wouldn’t have a chance of sneaking out of bed.

Dean stared at Sam’s face and told himself, _Just one win._


	270. Smile - Tombstone

With Jack and Cas in the front room of the motel- separated from them by the closed door- and Dean in such a jovial mood, it shouldn’t have surprised Sam when his brother dropped to his knees in front of the bed and cupped his face in both hands, kissing him tentatively.

Sam pulled away after a few seconds. They’d barely touched in the last few weeks, even though they’d been sleeping in the same bed, mostly. Sam didn’t exactly _envy_ Cas, but he wished he could have made Dean as happy as he was right now and it made his heart clench, made him feel redundant, useless. 

_Jesus_ , what was _wrong_ with him? So, Cas' return had pulled Dean back from the edge. And Sam was glad for it, he really was. Hell, he was _grateful_. But why wasn't he just as _happy_? Why couldn’t he feel anything other than blankness?

“Hey,” Dean said softly. “I'm sorry. About yesterday. That was a dick move and... And it was selfish.”

This was the second time he’d apologized lately, and it was somehow more genuine than the last one. Sam smiled a little. “I'm sorry I didn't find this case before. It's obviously the cherry on top after getting Cas back.”

Dean smiled too, though there was relief leaking through in the way his hands loosened their tight grip on Sam’s face, the way he leaned closer. “Hey, you don't need to apologize. You put up with my ass more than should be humanly possible. You’ve been pretty much a saint.” He hesitated. “Look, what I said, about you believing for both of us… I didn’t realize how hard that must have been. I mean, I pretty much shut down and left you to carry all the emotional baggage. I could _see_ what it was doing to you, I just… I didn’t _want_ to see it.” He pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s cheek, just grazing the corner of his lips. “You’ve been keeping me off the edge. So, thanks.”

Sam felt something like relief and gladness fill up his chest, warming his stomach. Maybe he hadn’t been as useless as he’d feared.

Dean must have read something in his face, because he kissed him again. It was less slow now, something wicked about it, turned dirty by the danger of either Cas or Jack barging in on them. It made heat coil in Sam’s stomach, encouraged by Dean’s clever tongue and the murmur of voices on the other side of the door.

But he also felt tired suddenly, like all he wanted was to go to sleep and not wake up for a long time.

“Easy there, cowboy,” he murmured with a drawl, knowing it would make Dean smile. “Door ain't locked.”

Sure enough, Dean grinned and clicked his tongue, sitting back on his haunches. “I missed Cas, but maybe we should have gotten them a different room. I never get to take advantage of how you look in a Stetson.”

Sam rolled his eyes, happy to play along. “If you had your way, we’d be indulging your Wild West fetish all the damn time. And I can’t take that.”

Dean sniffled mockingly. “After everything I do for you?” He asked. “This is my reward?”

Sam pushed him away and he stood, heading to his own bed with a smirk.

Sam shook his head fondly, as they finally settled in for the night. Maybe he’d feel better about everything in the morning.


	271. Exhausted - War Of The Worlds

Dean found Sam in the control room, hunched over his laptop, eyes glazed but fixed on the screen with burning intensity, fingers flying over the keyboard faster than should be humanly possible.

“Sammy-”

“Tracking algorithm,” Sam muttered. “Charlie had taught me. I’m calibrating it specifically to power surges of angelic levels or higher. Jack so much as sneezes, we should know. Hopefully.”

It was then that Dean realized the laptop was connected to the ancient magical computer system that powered the map table. Well, thank God for his little brother’s mind.

“Maybe we should also check the British Men of Letters' database,” he suggested. “They knew about angels, they’ll probably know about Nephilim. Maybe they have a tracking spell.”

Sam paused, staring up at Dean blearily. “That’s right. You’re right,” he said in a slow and dazed way, earnest and sincere. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the complement. From anyone else, it would have sounded mocking and demeaning. Sam was actually being genuine and it made Dean smile, pleased.

“Yeah, yeah, you’d fall apart without me,” he teased. “And you didn’t think about it because you haven’t moved from this spot in over eight hours. Your brain’s rusted. So come on, get up, take a breather, Rain Man.”

Sam resisted. “Dean, no, Jack is-”

“Fine,” Dean said firmly. “He’s fine, Sam. He’s the son of Lucifer and he spent four weeks in the Winchester School of Survival. He’ll be fine.”

Sam didn’t look entirely convinced.

Dean sighed. Yep, Sam had unofficially adopted the kid. Hell, knowing Sam, he probably had drawn up fake adoption papers and birth certificates just in case.

“Listen to me,” he said, placing both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “I know you’re worried, you and Cas. And so am I. But you gotta take care of yourself. So if he _is_ in trouble, you’ll be in good shape to help him.”

For a few seconds, Sam stayed quiet and still. Then, a small smile quirked his lips and he gave Dean a light peck. “Look at that, Dean Winchester giving health advice.”

Dean whacked his head immediately. “Smartass. Come on. We can have lunch in your room and binge something.”

Sam followed easily, leaving the laptop behind without a backward glance.


	272. Pass - The Scorpion And The Frog

“What if he's poisoned it?” Sam asked idly, not looking away from the parchment.

He could feel the way Dean froze, halfway through the slice of pie Bart had ordered for him, spoon hovering in front of his mouth.

Then he shrugged. “You don’t suspect that,” he said. “Otherwise you’d have stopped me from taking even one bite.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m honestly shocked you’ve never been drugged,” he muttered.

Dean just scoffed. “Hey, I’m careful when you’re not with me. And when you are, I know you’ve got an eye on me at all times.”

Despite the bad mood he’d been in with their constant failures at finding Jack, Sam felt himself smile reluctantly. He knew what Dean was doing- plying him with subtle compliments and his favorite meals and easy touches to take his mind off the Nephilim they’d lost. Sam was grateful, he really was.

He just…

“Open up.”

Sam started, taken aback to find Dean’s fork drifting towards him, a piece of pie speared on it.

“Dean, wha-?”

Dean had force-fed him the bite before he could finish his protest, the prongs lightly jabbing his tongue. 

Sam chewed begrudgingly, eyeing Dean with a narrow stare.

Dean stared back, tilting his chin up defiantly. “You haven’t been eating,” he defended himself. “I’m making sure you don’t keel over during a fight.”

Sam didn’t reply immediately, just kept staring.

Den sighed, holding the fork out to him pleadingly. “Come on, please? Eat?” He waved it invitingly. “No terrible sex jokes for the rest of the week. Promise.”

Sam sighed too and took the fork from Dean’s hand to finish the remaining slice. Never let it be said that Dean couldn’t be persuasive when he wanted to.


	273. Wrongness - The Bad Place

First things first: find shelter.

With years of camping under their belt- however much Dean may have pretended to hate it- and their dad’s training in mind, they found something immediately. It was a small cliff-like structure, with a ledge jutting out above, creating just enough space underneath for two full-grown men to squeeze in. Okay, less space than comfortable, but it wasn't as if they minded being squished together. 

Sam and Dean crouched in the small area, pressed together from shoulders to knees.

“Let’s get some rest,” Dean suggested. “Then we can go out to explore.”

“In the world of Godzilla?” Sam asked flatly. “In the dark?”

Dean hummed. “We’ll need fire. Should keep predators away.”

Sam didn’t answer. He was stiff, elbows tucked into himself, like he was upset and trying not to bring attention to it. Too bad Dean already knew.

“I know you’re mad about Kaia,” he said.

Sam shot him a look full of disappointment. “What’s next? Holding a knife at a kid’s throat?”

Dean winced. Now that he was thinking a bit clearer, he felt horrified at himself. Christ, what had he been thinking, threatening Kaia with a gun? Nothing, that’s what. Just a rhythm-less litany of _mom mom mom mom mom._

“I’ll make it better with her,” he promised quietly. “Soon as we get back. I’ll apologize.”

After a long moment, Sam relaxed into his side, leaning in a little. Dean took a deep breath and put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer.


	274. Hansel And Gretel - The Wayward Sisters

Donna leaned against the doorframe, watched Alex and Jody try to console Claire. She and Patience stood aside, feeling out of place, intruding.

Donna placed a hand on the psychic's shoulder. “Why don't ya go n' see if ya can’t scrounge up somethin' to eat?”

Patience smiled a bit and headed towards the kitchen.

Donna took the few short steps to the living room, where the boys- well, _men_ , really- were discussing something in low tones. It was nearly inaudible and Donna opened her mouth to interrupt, ask them what had happened, whether they were okay, if they needed to get some rest.

But there was something about this picture that wasn’t right, something that nagged at all her instincts, honed by years of being a cop.

It was the way they were turned towards each other. It was Dean’s hand on Sam’s thigh, fingers tapping and thumb rubbing the inseam. It was Sam’s non-reaction to the touch, like it was normal. It was Dean’s left foot hooked around Sam’s right. Sam’s arm stretched on the back of the couch, palm curled around Dean’s neck.

Donna was a fairly non-judgmental person, happy-go-lucky, brushing off most weird things as _‘not my concern’._

But this, this was so _unexpected-obvious_ , so _normal-seeming_ to the unacquainted eye, so _theoretic-wrong_ to her mind… Donna took a literal step back, unable to stop the gasp that left her mouth as she realized what she was seeing. She had enough time to see both men tense and turn towards her- Sam with surprised eyes, Dean with guilty ones- before she turned on her heel and hurried back to Claire’s room. Jody met her at the door.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Something happened?” There was a note of instant worry, like she was gearing up for defense against yet another attack.

Donna reeled herself in. “Sam and Dean? Are they… Did you know...?” Words petered off, because how do you tell one of your closest friends that your other two friends are in an incestuous relationship?

Jody seemed to get it, seemed to see something in her eyes. “Don't,” she warned. “Blind eye, Donna. It’s not our place.”

Donna swallowed, because Jody was right. But with everything she'd seen in her crazy career, messed up families were among the worst. “What if they're hurting each other?” She couldn't help but ask. “What if one of them is…?” _Abuse, gas lighting, blackmail_ \- all ugly words that she never wanted to use in reference to people she cared about.

She felt almost relieved when Jody just raised an eyebrow. “You know what those two are like,” she reminded. “Do you think they're capable of that?”

Donna didn't have an answer other than “No.”

Jody gave a sharp nod, muscled past her. “Boys!” She called out. “One of you come help me with the cooking!”

It was Sam who responded, throwing Donna a pleading look as he passed her on the way to the kitchen. Then Dean appeared, hunched forward but shoulders back- defensive.

“Should check on Claire,” he muttered.

Donna stared, blinking, trying to reconcile the lovers she'd seen on the couch with the brothers she knew they really were. There was an instinctive knee-jerk of discomfort. Then she thought, _‘not my concern.’_

Because Jody was right: it wasn't her place and Sam and Dean were the last people on earth to willingly hurt each other.

So she fixed a smile, only half-fake. “Jody’s house, Dean-o,” she reminded cheerfully. “No PDA, or she might kick you out. On account of kids being present.”

Dean’s face cleared a bit and he straightened. “Yeah, yeah,” he said gruffly. “Hilarious.”

Donna patted his shoulder and left him in the hallway. She just needed a minute to wrap her head around it.


	275. Don't Let It Break Your Heart - Breakdown

It took nearly three weeks.

Three weeks in which Dean put them under lockdown. _(“No hunting till you're feeling better, Sammy.”)_

Three weeks for Sam to surface from his dark place, his depression, melancholia, whatever. _(He’d taken psychology in college, but that didn't mean he was willing to diagnose himself)._

Three weeks for Sam to go from "What are we gonna do?" to “We can do this.”

They spend the time together, of course, but more so. Dean watched as Sam did yoga _(he didn't join in, but he did happily offer critique)_. He dragged Sam into the kitchen to teach him to cook something more complex than a sandwich _(it didn't exactly work out but they discovered that Sam was fairly good at baking)_. He even sat through two hours of nature documentary, even though Sam was really just testing his limits at that point _(he had indulged Dean's Clint Eastwood fascination all their lives, he deserved this)_.

At the end of the three weeks, as Sam came out of his shower, he realized he felt… Good. Better. More hopeful. He stopped in his room, tracking over all their problems.

Jack and mom were still missing. But hey, mom was tough and Jack was an honorary Winchester. They'd be fine and Sam and Dean were constantly working on how to bring them home.

Donna and Claire were heartbroken, but they were both thick-skinned and had Jody and the other girls to help them through it.

Kaia had died to save them and that was something none of them could change. The best they could do was be grateful. And they were.

Sam let himself smile. Quickly putting on his clothes, he found Dean in the kitchen, making breakfast. He watched him for a few minutes, knowing that Dean was aware of his presence and choosing to let him be for the moment. Involuntarily, he thought about the auction from their last case.

Five hundred thousand dollars. For his heart.

There was something symbolic about it, he mused, that his heart had been about to be carved out of his chest in front of an audience of monsters and Dean had, as always, been the one to save him.

_Kill the monster, get the girl._ Not that Sam was going to say that aloud.

“What are you thinking?” Dean finally asked, turning slightly from the stove.

Sam shrugged, leaning against the door. “Nothing, really. S'just… Half a mill for a heart seems a bit overkill.”

Dean pursed his lips, staring at the omelets he was cooking. “I'd pay it,” he mumbled, trying to be nonchalant. “Not that I have that kinda money, and I'm not saying you're for sale, but theoretically… I’d pay. Whatever the price.”

Sam didn't think they were talking about his literal heart anymore.

And Dean thought he wasn't good with words? Yeah, right.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For... Thank you.”

Dean didn’t reply, just placed a plate on the table. “Eat up, bitch.”


	276. Head Over Heels - Various And Sundry Villains

About a minute after they turned in for bed, Sam started shaking with laughter.

Dean opened his eyes, annoyed but also glad that the somber mood from before was gone, and stared at the silhouette of his brother. “What now?”

Sam giggled, which really wasn’t something any grown man should do but this giant made it work somehow. “You just, _you_ , the love spell!” He turned on his side, reaching behind to turn the lamp on. He was smiling widely, full of mirth. “You even left your Baby behind.”

“That really shouldn’t count as anything,” Dean complained. “It was a spell.”

Sam shook his head. “Well, at least she didn’t do anything more to you. You got off light, trust me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Had Becky-?”

“No!” Sam denied quickly. “No. She just kissed me, but… Nothing more. No.”

Dean hummed, thinking about how Becky had tied Sam up too. “Same. Just once. She was pretending to be unconscious and the sister told me that true love’s kiss might wake her up.”

It was the wrong _(right)_ thing to say. Sam started laughing again. “Who knew?” He teased. “Dean Winchester under a love spell is as sappy and Hallmark-material as they come.”

Dean sat up indignantly. “Hey,” he snapped. “I can be cheesy and romantic without a love spell.”

Sam shrugged, testy. “Go on.”

Dean leaned over him, palms flat on either side of Sam’s head, and cleared his throat. “So, I’m in love,” he started, repeating his speech from earlier in the day. “Like, I am full on twitterpated here.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, are you?” He questioned, mimicking his own words from that morning.

Dean nodded, idly tugging at the hem of Sam’s tee. “He’s really smart, gorgeous, bit of a girl, and kinda sorta perfect,” he declared, before quickly leaning down to nip at Sam’s collar bone.

Sam squirmed. “Sounds great,” he agreed, voice tight, arching up to allow the tee-shirt to be pulled off.

Dean hummed, tracing a finger over his chest, pointedly keeping his touch light. “The best thing is, he already lives with me. Which is super awesome, because this is big-time.”

Sam had zero patience today, because he flipped him over smoothly, hair falling forward as he kissed Dean, fast and messy.

Dean could barely keep up, too busy with smiling. “His name’s Sammy,” he said breathlessly, when Sam left his lips to bite down where his neck met his shoulder. See, this was why Dean preferred to sleep shirtless. “And he’s my soul mate.”

Sam looked up, eyes hooded and dark. “Soulmate, huh?” He sounded amused.

Dean nodded, trying not to seem so affected by the way Sam was gripping his wrists in one hand, effectively pinning him. “Yeah, he is. And _you_ , buddy, are one toppy son of a bitch. Control freak.”

Sam just smirked, sharp and wicked, his version of Dean’s own leer. “As if you don’t love it.”

Dean couldn’t disagree. “I do," he groaned. "Makes me all tingly.”

For a second, Sam paused, expressionless as he stared down at Dean. Then, he leaned down and kissed Dean, simultaneously sweet and dirty.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know.”


	277. Warning Bells - Devil's Bargain

Sam stared down at his phone. There was a single text from Rowena, from around a week ago. It was two simple words: _Thank you._

Dean appeared at his elbow. “You gonna tell her?”

Sam sighed. “I should. She needs to know, needs to prepare, in case Lucifer goes after her.”

“Man, I don’t think he will,” Dean mused. “Not now, at least. He’s still working on getting back to full power. At this point, Rowena could turn him into mincemeat. And that was before. _Now_? After the power up from the Grimoire? She could turn him to dust with a snap of her fingers, probably.”

Sam weighed the phone in his hand, following with hospital eyes the letters of Rowena's name and the contact photo that she’d obviously set by magic. Then he placed it in his pocket again. “Let’s leave her out of this for some time. Lucifer thinks she’s dead anyway. She deserves a break from all this.”

He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset later on.


	278. Inhale And Exhale - Good Intentions

Dean’s chest was hurting, breath still coming short. Cas was there next to him, hand on his arm. Sam was right in front of him, almost entirely in his space.

Dean reached out, placing his hand on Sam’s chest. _In and out_ , he told himself. Breathe.

Sam seemed to understand what he was trying to do, like he always did, and slowed his own breathing, exaggerating it so Dean could feel the steady movement of his chest. 

_In and out._

Cas disappeared somewhere and Dean finally stopped feeling dizzy. He opened his eyes, head tilting back to rest against the wall. Sam was peering down at him, panic and relief warring in his features.

“I'm okay,” Dean managed to say. “S'just breathing, right?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he agreed stiffly. “Just breathing. You’re okay.”


	279. Precious - A Most Holy Man

“What would you do?” Lucca asked.

Neither of the men, Sam and Dean, as they’d introduced themselves, looked at him or at each other. They each glanced away, Sam at the table and Dean at the window.

There was a tenseness to them both, an underlying stiffness that belied tragedy and sorrow. Dean clenched his jaw, nodded once, sharply, to himself, obviously lost in thought.

Sam’s eyes cut to Dean once, then back to Lucca. “Try and get it back.”

Dean’s eyes drifted to Sam, before looking away again, without a word.

Lucca wondered how they’d lost each other, how they’d gotten each other back. Something told him he didn’t really want to know.


	280. Casual Touch - Scoobynatural

They came back from the electronics shop together. Sam refused to let Dean drive, saying, “You just proved you’re too immature to be behind a wheel, Dean. Flirting with Daphne, wearing an ascot, racing with the Mystery Machine, and imitating a cartoon dog- you _deserve_ to be delegated to shotgun.”

Dean had pouted, but given in, when Sam threatened to bring in an actual dog.

Personally, Cas thought Sam sounded too amused. Shouldn’t he be jealous, that Dean had been bestowing his attention on some woman?

He decided it best not to say anything, just joined in the teasing and laughed with Sam as Dean crossed his arms with a childish scowl.

When they got back to the bunker, Dean clapped his hands. “Alright, this calls for a binge!” He announced. “Our- Sam’s room, Netflix, now. Cas, get the popcorn.”

“Dean,” Sam groaned. “Three of us are not going to fit on my bed. And we are _not_ watching Scooby Doo, don’t even think about it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Find something else. Bring the laptop out here, I’ll set the chairs.”

They ended up gathered around the table, chairs set close, bowl of popcorn on Sam’s lap in the middle.

Cas had half his attention on the screen, the other half of it on his friends. Despite his near constant worry for Jack, he felt quite peaceful right now. Especially since Sam and Dean seemed to be closer than ever.

In fact, now that Cas took the time to think about it, the brothers had been more… _Together_ , in a spiritual sense, for some time now. Possibly since the time they’d been dealing with Amara.

Their touches were more gentle, more reserved and less desperate. There was no brewing resentment, no passive aggressiveness, nothing.

For a moment, Cas wondered if they had taken the final step in their relationship and forgotten to tell him. He knew they were sharing a bed, of course, on most nights if not all. Had they finally…?

No. No, that couldn’t be it. Cas was very observant of his friends. He would have noticed if they’d added a sexual aspect to their very intense relationship.

With a shrug, Cas turned his eyes back to the laptop screen, and smiled when Dean slapped Sam’s hand away from the keyboard. 


	281. Hallmark - The Thing

“Can you try to talk, Gabriel?” Sam asked gently, dabbing away the blood from the stitches he’d cut off.

Gabriel’s lips were quivering under his touch, his eyes still wide and blank with terror, but he was no longer shivering and whimpering so Sam counted it as a win.

He had to, otherwise he’d start thinking about Dean and how pissed off at him he was.

“Gabriel?”

The Archangel didn’t answer, just stared back at Sam without a hint of comprehension.

Sam sighed. “Okay, you don't wanna talk. I get it.” He rubbed his hand across his jaw- he fell into Dean’s habits and mannerisms when they weren’t together. How was that for codependency? “How the hell are we going to get your Grace if you-?”

A high-pitched whine escaped Gabriel, his whole body flinching and cowering, gaze darting erratically around.

Sam bit his tongue, placing both hands on Gabriel's shoulders to calm him. They felt too thin and bony in the curve of his palms. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured. “Slipped my mind, won't happen again.”

Just like that, Gabriel quieted. He fixated on Sam again.

Sam got the sense, somehow, that Gabriel needed him to keep talking. As long as the G-word wasn’t uttered. Maybe the silence made him suspicious.

Sam leaned back in his chair, glumly, staring at the golden-orange rift. “Our mom is in an alternate universe,” he said. “And Jack- he’s your nephew, by the way, congratulations- he’s there too. Dean went to get them back.”

There was a short silence in which Gabriel only shifted once.

“We were supposed to go together,” Sam spoke through grit teeth. “That was, I mean it wasn’t a plan, because we hadn’t really talked about, but it’s a given, you know? That we stay together. At least, that’s what _I_ thought.” Annoyance and anger made him scowl, glaring at the rift. “But no, for _some_ reason, he thinks I should be in time-out while he waltzes into an active war zone of celestial proportions with a guy neither of us trusts even as far as we could throw him.”

Gabriel was attentive, if unresponsive, and Sam found it felt good to unload.

He shook his head. “You’d think, after more than a decade of having each other’s backs, he’d trust me to be able to take care of myself.” He paused once, thinking about the case they’d just come back from. Two lifelong lovers, separated from each other for all eternity by another rift, just like this was. Sam’s heart twanged in reluctant sympathy. Because here he was, stuck helplessly on one side while Dean waged a one-man war on the other. Two-man, if he counted Ketch, which he didn’t.

“Dean was right about one thing,” he muttered. “It really is like a Hallmark movie.” The thought didn’t help abate his fears.

There was a soft, high sound from Gabriel. He was staring at Sam, his expression full of something that Sam couldn’t recognize. 

Sam stared back. “You’re really out of it, aren’t ya?” He asked, tiredly. He didn’t get an answer, not that he’d expected one. “Come on. Let’s put you into a room.”


	282. It's All Okay - Bring 'Em Back Alive

Sam found him exactly one hour later, huddled in the backseat of the car parked in the garage. Unsurprising. Sam always did know him a little too well. Frankly, Dean was grateful he got the one hour of solitude. He was more grateful that Sam was here now.

Sam didn’t say anything, just opened the door and slid in beside him. There was a respectable amount of space between them- well, respectable for _them_ , which, Dean mused, wasn’t really a whole lot. Because after a minute, Dean only had to shift an inch to press against Sam’s side.

He knew Sam was pissed off. He didn’t blame him. But Dean was weak, too weak to risk Sam to a world that had taken the King of Hell, their mother, and the kid they’d begun to think of their own. It was a stupid thought, Dean knew it. Sam was perfectly capable of handling himself. He was one of the best hunters in the States, probably the world. He could take care of himself, could take care of _Dean_ , if needed.

But fear was a stubborn bitch and Dean was deathly afraid of just one thing.

“Sorry I yelled earlier,” he mumbled, only for the sake of saying something before his chest constricted fully. “I was just… Upset. Didn’t mean it.”

Sam didn’t say anything. Dean had turned away when he’d yelled in the war room. He’d had his back to Sam and Cas, hadn’t seen their reactions, but he could imagine Sam’s just fine, could perfectly picture the way his brother would have flinched away- shoulders hunching in, eyes slamming shut, muscles locking defensively.

Sam called it PTSD. According to him, they both had it. They just showed different symptoms, he said. One lashed out violently and the other shrank away. Polar opposites.

Dean hated himself for wishing Sam would lash out too. It would be so much easier to deal with.

Then again, Sam definitely wished Dean would have some more healthy fear than mindlessly face off against everything.

“Sorry I scared you,” he whispered. “By leaving you behind.”

Sam sighed. His hand found its way to Dean’s thigh, squeezing firmly, pinky finger stroking the inseam. The heat of his palm through the denim was comforting. It felt a little like _it’s okay._


	283. Stranger Things Have Happened - Funeralia

When it was time to say goodbye again, Sam approached her, as Dean and Bernard got their respective vehicles ready.

“I still can’t believe you shot me,” Rowena grumbled.

Sam smiled, like he knew she was deflecting, but he replied anyway. “I still can’t believe you tore my shirt open. There anything you wanna tell me?” His tone was light, flirty.

It made Rowena do a double take. Then she clicked her tongue in reprimand. “Now you’re starting to sound like your brother,” she scolded.

He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often it helps.”

She shook her head, tossed her hair, like she was offended. “Well, still. You’ll give a girl the wrong idea that way, Samuel. Such cruelty doesn’t become you, as attractive as it may be. Besides…” She smirked up at him. “Dean might take offense.”

Sam shook his head, smile softening into something gentler that made Rowena swallow.

He reached for her, touching her shoulders.

She tried to back away. “No, I don’t need a hug, Samuel,” she protested vehemently.

“Well, I do,” he told her seriously, and reeled her in.

Rowena didn’t struggle; she was too tired for it. And… One minute of indulgence, of comfort, never hurt anyone, did it? It felt nice- Sam’s chin was a grounding weight on the top of her head, his hands protectively spanning her slim shoulders and delicate spine, and he seemed to be rocking her slightly, like she was a wee child he had to care for. Or a friend he truly adored.

She breathed out slowly, trying not to weep into his atrocious shirt. She could, of course, and he would be more than happy to hold her through it. But Rowena had already given him so much trouble and he had never held it against her and… Was there nothing she could do in return?

“I could help you,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. “You gave me the means to become stronger, I can do the same for you.”

Sam frowned down at her. “What do you mean?”

“Your powers,” she told him in a quiet voice.

His eyes went wide, a little scared. Had he thought she hadn’t known? Silly boy, everybody knew. Plus, she had read the books. (And, oh, the things she'd learned.) 

“They’re still inside you,” she said. “Locked away, but there. I can help you free them, help you learn to control them, better than any demon could. It would take longer than the first time around, without the blood, but it’ll be _better,_ I promise, _you’ll_ be better, you’ll be more powerful than you ever were and-”

“Rowena,” Sam cut in, gentle but firm. “I can’t go back to that.” He shook his head. “I don’t _want_ to go back to that. Those powers… They were making me into something I never wanted to be. And yeah, maybe, with time, I could control that too, but it’s time we don’t have. I’m not saying _never_ ,” he assured. “Just… Maybe when we don’t have an Apocalypse pending.”

She nodded, disappointed, but accepting.

Sam smiled again. “Until then, I’d be happy to learn whatever witchcraft secrets you’ve been collecting all these years.”

Rowena scoffed, pushing off him. “Don’t push your luck, you bumbling giant,” she muttered, but she also knew he’d be the best- and only- student she would ever have.

Sam looked back, where Dean was idling in the car, waiting. He looked back at her. “You coming?”

She raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t realized they wanted her to accompany them to their home. “What, and ditch poor Bernard?”

He huffed in amusement, rolling his eyes. “Just let him down easy. He’s pretty devoted.”

“Aye, that he is.” She nodded. “Bernard, dearie,” she called over her shoulder. “You go on ahead, love, I’ll catch up a trite later.”

Bernard drove away.

Sam started walking towards the Impala. “That’s how you do it? Really?”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, Samuel,” she trilled cheerfully and followed him with a spring in her step.


	284. Cutlery Questions - Unfinished Business

Gabriel’s gaze was a constant, impossible-to-ignore weight on them, as they whittled the wooden stakes.

Finally Sam looked up. “What?” He asked with a sigh.

“Nothing,” the Archangel said flippantly. “Just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

He shrugged. “Which one of you is the little spoon?”

“We switch,” Dean replied, without looking up from his work. Then he froze. Slowly, he looked up.

Sam stared at him in horrified annoyance.

Gabriel was laughing, shoulders shaking. “Holy crap! Wow! Did not think it’d be that easy, boys.” He grinned, sharp and unrepentant. “You guys switch on everything else too?”

Dean shut his eyes. “Can I shoot him?” He asked in a small voice. “It wouldn’t hurt him.”

Sam resisted the urge to whack him on the head. “This one is completely your fault.”

Gabriel was still cackling.


	285. The Scent Of Fear - Beat The Devil

He made Sam walk ahead. It terrified the kid, of course, having the Devil at his back, but it amused Lucifer to no end. And since he was still not strong enough to teleport, they had a long way to walk.

“So, Sammy,” he began. “I bet you’re wondering how exactly I was tracking you, since you obviously had a couple hours head start on me.”

Sam didn’t answer, not that Lucifer expected him to.

“Simple. You see, there is a very special connection between an angel and its vessel. Especially since I’ve already been all up in you once, right? It means you’ve got some of my Grace in you. It’s a very small amount, mind you, other angels wouldn’t even detect it, but I can, obviously, since it’s mine, and that allowed me to be able to sense you, with only a little effort. You know what they say- Grace is thicker than blood.”

Sam kept walking, but his hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to hit him. Lucifer really hoped he would attack. He enjoyed this game much more when Sam got feisty and actually played along with him.

“Ooh, you know what else I can do?” Lucifer kept on in a sing-song way. “It means, when you’re vulnerable and/or your guard is down…” He grinned, lightly shoving Sam’s back, making him stumble. “It gets easier for me to read your mind.”

Sure enough, that made Sam freeze, almost skidding to a stop. “What?” He asked, voice breaking.

Lucifer shrugged, skipping around Sam to be able to face him. “Oh, you know how it goes, champ. You remember, right? I’d read your mind, see all your memories, and then use all the new info to dream up a bunch of fun games for you and me.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you can’t. You’re not strong enough for that…” he trailed off, realizing that if Lucifer could bring him back, he could damn well read his mind.

“Let’s see.” Lucifer tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You had my son sit through all three installments of Lord Of The Rings. You were pretty relieved when he watched Star Wars and declared that he hated Anakin. You wanted to get him into reading, but let it go when he said he preferred movies. When his taste in food turned out more similar to Dean’s, you tried to get him to eat healthy, but Dean was so happy that you didn’t have the heart to say much about it. And speaking of Dean…”

Sam’s face had been getting paler and paler, but at the mention of Dean’s name, he closed his eyes. “Don’t,” he said through grit teeth.

Lucifer smirked. Once upon a time, he’d tried to spare Sam pain. But then Sam had trapped him back in that Cage. All bets were off after that. “Dean,” he said softly. “You finally got him, huh? Finally dragged him down with you, let him see all the ugly parts of you, those last little details you tried to keep hidden.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re a cursed kid, Sam. Dean might have spent time in Hell, but you’ve been cursed by _me_. You didn’t even make it to six months old before being targeted. Oh, and let’s not forget all the delightful stuff that happened to everyone else you ever loved or even, you know, cared about a little.” He started counting on his fingers. “Your mom died protecting _you_. Your high school prom date, Rachel, and a few of your favorite teachers over the years were all demons spying on _you_. Jessica burned on the ceiling as a means to motivate _you_. Ruby betrayed _you_. One girl turned out to be a werewolf who _you_ had to shoot and another one choked to death because, uh… Oh, right, because _you_ couldn’t find a silly little hex bag in time.”

Sam was shaking, but valiantly keeping up a glare.

Lucifer pretended to carefully consider. “With that terrible a track record…” He sighed, theatrically. “Can't say Dean's got much time before he suffers horrifically for your sake. _Again_.”

Sam finally spoke. “You don't get to talk about Dean. You don't know us.” It was said quietly, firmly, even with the fearful subtext.

Lucifer laughed. “You know I'm right, Sam. You know it.”


	286. Never Enough - Exodus

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off Sam. His brother wasn’t oblivious, well aware of the scrutiny as he chatted with Other Charlie, smiling fondly at her. But he didn’t react, like he knew how much Dean needed to just _look_ at him.

But it wasn’t enough. Dean narrowed his eyes, waiting. When Sam finally glanced at him, he crooked his fingers slightly, beckoning him away. He turned away then, walked towards their room. In under a minute, Sam entered as well, closing the door softly behind him.

Dean didn’t waste any time, pulling him down into a kiss. He remembered hugging him tightly in the Apocalypse World, but that hadn’t been enough either, not nearly. Not when Dean had watched him die just a couple hours ago.

Now, almost a day later, Dean could still feel the tightness in his chest, the suffocating need to keep Sam close and make sure he was safe.

Sam was kissing back softly, leaning back against the door and letting Dean take control. Dean broke away, but didn’t move, skimming down the length of Sam’s jaw and grazing his teeth right over the carotid artery. Sam’s hands were resting on his chest and Dean tried to relax against him, tried to stop counting the pulse thrumming under his lips, tried to loosen his hold on Sam’s hips.

“You promised,” he muttered, trying not to whine.

Sam’s fingers twitched. Dean felt lips pressed to his hairline. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to… You know.” It was all said in a murmur.

Dean shook his head, remembering the utter helplessness he’d felt watching Sam get taken down and have his throat ripped out, the gut-wrenching ache when he’d heard Sam call out his name in a defeated gasp, the burning mixture of _denialangergrief_ that had lodged in his chest when Cas pulled him away.

He realized he was shaking. Sam was stroking his face gently, saying something like, “Hey, look at me, I’m here, I’m okay.”

Dean opened his eyes, unsure when he’d closed them. Sam held his gaze, bending down to kiss him again, still soft, still sweet, like the last forty hours had never happened.

Dean resisted for a second. “Don’t do that again. Sammy, I can’t… You can’t put me through that one more time.”

Sam sighed. “I promise I’ll try,” he murmured.

Dean supposed that would just have to be good enough.


	287. Adrift - Let The Good Times Roll

Cas had never seen a darker shadow on Sam’s face than right this instant, as he trudged down the stairs of the bunker, Jack in tow with blood on his chin and tee-shirt.

He rushed forward on instinct. “Sam? What happened?” It was a stupid question, because if Dean wasn’t here, then it was quite obvious what had happened.

Sam seemed to not hear him. “Dean,” he whispered. He swayed on the spot, collapsing into one of the chairs at the war table. “Dean,” he said again.

Jack took another chair, shaky and confused.

Mary approached Sam carefully, carding her fingers through his hair. “Sam? Where’s Dean?”

Cas thought it was a cruel irony that only a day ago she’d asked the same question to Dean in regards to Sam.

But Sam didn’t react. He just whispered, “Dean.”

“Michael took him,” Jack whispered. “He killed Lucifer and then… Michael took control. And flew away.”

Sam closed his eyes, a hurt noise escaping him.

Jack winced. “The, uh, the vessel, Lucifer’s vessel, he’s alive. Somehow. We left him in the car Sam stole. He’s unconscious. I don’t know his name…” He looked to Sam, questioning and worried. “And I think Sam’s in shock.”

Cas answered for him. “His name is Nick. I suppose the Archangel blade works in a way to preserve, or revive, the host.” But it was a half-hearted explanation, because all Cas could see was Sam’s blank, frozen face and all he could think about was Dean locked away in his own mind as Michael used his body to wreak havoc.

Mary looked similarly shocked, horrified. But she rallied quickly. “Sam. Sam, we’ll find him. It’s okay, we will.”

Sam opened his eyes, blinked slowly. He nodded and got to his feet. Cas didn’t know what possessed him, but he strode forward and tentatively hugged his friend.

“Go get some rest,” he whispered.

Sam didn’t hug back, but he shuddered and Cas could smell the saltiness of his rapidly approaching tears. He let go and was silently grateful when Sam swiped a hand through Jack’s hair, patted Mary’s shoulder and walked away.

Cas waited for him to disappear. He prayed, perhaps in vain, that they would find Dean before it was too late. He didn’t know how long Sam would be able to take the separation and he wasn’t eager to find out.


	288. Halved - Stranger In A Strange Land

Sam turned the engine off. He knew he should get out, but inside the car it was warm and familiar and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend Dean was sitting shotgun, tired out but still bitching about how he could drive for a little while longer.

But then he opened his eyes and the real world came rushing back in, where Dean had been missing for weeks.

Sam sighed, trying to somehow alleviate the ache that had become constant in what felt like every fiber of his being. Realizing he had his hands clenched on the steering wheel, he let go, slowly. He ran a gentle hand over the dash.

“I know, you miss him too, don’t you?” He murmured. “We’ll get him back, Baby. Don't worry. We’ll get him back.”

When Dean came back, Sam was never again going to tease him for anthropomorphizing the Impala.

Finally, Sam climbed out. Instead of heading straight into the bunker, he went out, outside the main entrance and stood in the cool autumn wind, looking up at the stars. Inside, there were a bunch of people, including his mother, his surrogate dad’s counterpart, and his adopted son, all of whom, for some reason, looked up to him and there was Nick, whom nobody else was willing to check in with, and the stark absence of Cas, who hadn’t called in at least two days, and the even starker absence of Dean. And Sam just… Couldn’t. Not tonight. Not for a few minutes, at least.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. “Dean,” he whispered.

He didn’t realize he was hoping for an answer until he didn’t get one.


	289. Breathless - Gods And Monsters

It felt like a sudden influx of oxygen, after being underwater for too long.

One second, Dean was drowning, had been for who knew how long, and the next moment, he was breathing freely. There was no one else in sight- just large, wooden double-doors in front of him. What was this, some kinda church house?

Dean swayed on the spot, trying to get his bearings.

He could hear voices on the other side of the doors. Harried, confused… Familiar.

_Sam._

_Sammy._

Dean’s breath caught and he remembered his last few seconds as a free man before Michael had hijacked him: power running free through his veins, Lucifer’s dead body and ashen wings on the floor, and Sam, gazing at Dean with bright eyes, laughing with a lightness to his shoulders that had been missing for so long. It was this memory that had kept Dean afloat all this time.

And now… Sammy. He was here. Right behind those doors.

Why the hell was Dean still standing here?

He pushed the doors open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, guys: I'm not going to be writing the codas for S15 until the final episodes have been aired, since I want these codas to be as canon-compliant as possible. So, there's going to be a break after I finish posting for s14. 
> 
> Really sorry for the impending wait, guys... 
> 
> XD


	290. Redden - The Scar

Dean stared at the side of his face. Sam twitched, because he could almost feel the utter contempt. 

“What is it?” He finally asked, turning slightly from the road ahead. 

Dean shifted in his seat, crossing his arms. “What the _hell_ is that thing on your face?”

Sam blinked. After having barely said a word since leaving the church and turning down the car keys, _this_ was what Dean chose to say? And what about his face? He voiced this question. 

Dean made a vague gesture. “That… Thing. Hairy. All over your face, dude, it makes you look like mountain man.”

Sam took a second to process. “My beard? It’s called a _beard_ , Dean.”

“I know what it’s called, you bitch,” Dean snarked. “What the hell is it doing on your face?”

Sam took a deep breath. “It’s not doing anything, Dean, it’s just…” He didn’t want to let on how much he’d been running himself ragged for almost a month. It would only make Dean worry unnecessarily. “I forgot to shave one Tuesday and then I just let it happen. Thought I’d try it.”

Dean made a sound of disgust, even his nose scrunching up adorably, not that Sam would use that word out loud. 

“I don’t like it. I hate it. Get rid of it.”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he wasn’t internally giddy at having Dean back and the familiar banter that came easy to them. “Why would I do that? I like it.”

“I’m not gonna kiss you, or do anything else, until you shave it off,” Dean declared. “I don’t want beard burn.”

Because Sam had been half-dead for a month, because he had restrained himself in front of mom and Other Bobby, because he just _could_ and wanted to- he made a sudden swerve, pulling over off the highway. 

“Wha-?”

Sam cut Dean off, leaning across the seat and kissing him. 

Dean immediately relaxed, sliding a hand into his hair as Sam tried not to bruise Dean's neck with too tight a grip. 

Several minutes passed, or maybe hours, as Dean gently nipped at his bottom lip and sucked at his tongue, other hand creeping under layers of flannel to settle over bare skin, making Sam want to move this to the backseat. 

Almost like Dean could read his mind, he mumbled, “Do we have time?”

Sam sighed, breaking away a bit, shivering when Dean moved to mouth at his neck instead. “Uh, not exactly, I, uh…” He stuttered once, feeling the sting of Dean’s nails raking painfully across his scalp. “Told Cas we’d be back by midnight."

Dean sighed, breath hot on Sam’s neck. He rested his head on Sam’s shoulder and Sam automatically brought his arms up to encircle him. It was rare that Dean let himself be held like this.

“That was an _‘I'm glad we’re back together'_ kiss,” Dean spoke, voice muffled. He pulled back. “So it didn't count. I stand by what I said. I ain't putting out until you shave that horror off.”

Sam stared for a few seconds, at the slightly reddened skin around Dean's mouth. Then he smirked. “Just for that, I'm not going to. Not until you break. I estimate two days.”

Dean scoffed, shoving him back to his place behind the wheel. “You’re on.”


	291. Confetti - Mint Condition

Sam was laughing.

Dean, hovering above him, bracing himself on his forearms, rolled his eyes fondly. “This is insulting, you get that, right?” He asked, deliberately rolling his hips against Sam’s. “We’re in _bed_ , and we’re _naked_ , and you’re _laughing_ \- it’s rude, man.”

Sam’s breath hitched, a small sound escaping him. But he still grinned. “Sorry. But you being accosted by Riley with fake blood and confetti is…” He started laughing again, reaching up to wipe what was apparently a smidge of said fake blood on Dean's forehead. “You looked ready to shoot him!”

Dean swore, giving up and rolling off Sam to lay beside him. “I swear I have never seen a hunter so perky and happy about a festival, of all things,” he grumbled, thinking about the blond, toothy-grinned refugee who’d greeted them when they'd returned from their hunt.

“He’s twenty, let him live.” Sam jabbed an accusing finger at him. “And you get excited about Halloween too. And pies. And dumb slasher flicks. And-”

“Alright, alright.” Dean reached out idly, pressing a thumb into Sam’s dimple. He hadn’t, in fact, lasted even a day before accosting Sam in the library, just as predicted. Even so, Sam had shaved the stupid beard off soon enough. Almost like he understood how much Dean hated the evidence of change, the proof of how long he’d been gone.

It hadn’t, unfortunately, stopped the younger hunters from occasionally throwing longing, hopeful, infatuated glances at their _Chief_. Dean’s threatening glares flew over their heads. Apparently, after living under the terror of Michael and his army, Dean Winchester just didn’t seem all that dangerous to them.

Or maybe Dean was going soft.

Eh, whatever.

Maybe they just liked Sam too much. He could relate to that. 

As he stared at Sam’s now softened smile, he unwillingly thought about their conversation in the car. And, just as unwilling, a surge of guilt welled up in him.

Sam seemed to notice the change, his gaze sharpening instantly. “Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “I get it now,” he said quietly. “When you’d said, situations reversed, you wouldn’t have done the same to me. Wouldn’t have tricked an angel into possessing me.”

Sam stiffened for a second, surprise making his eyes wide. “Dean…”

“No, just-” Dean shook his head. “-let me say this. Okay? I- I get it. I get it now, why you were so angry. Why you said that. Being possessed…” He took a deep breath. “I get it now. I shouldn't have tricked you into it. And I’m so sorry that I ever…” His voice broke and he clamped his mouth shut, unable to go on.

Sam’s palm was rough where it stroked down the length of his arm. “I wanted you to understand. But I never… I never you wanted to go through it. I would never have wished this on you.” He sounded sad.

Dean sighed. “Yeah. We’re not too great at decision-making when it’s each other on the line.” He injected the words with dry humor.

Sam scoffed. “It’s obviously genetic.”

Dean hummed, finding his dimple again and pressing a thumb into it.

Sam’s mouth twitched, like a reaction. “You’re obsessed with that,” he observed.

Dean shrugged, digging into the groove deep enough that it had to be a bit painful. “I used to do this when you were a baby,” he mused. It was one of his clearer memories. “You used to start giggling and… Other baby sounds. I’d do it all the time, especially while we were on the road. Used to drive Dad nuts half the time. Or he’d start laughing too.”

Sam gave him a lazy half-smile. “You never told me that before.”

Dean shifted forward, kissing him softly. “Never came up. You know, you were kinda like my very own life-sized baby doll.”

Sam laughed lightly, the vibrations humming down Dean’s throat and chest.

“We should get some sleep,” he finally said. “There's only a few hours left before morning.”

“Sleep in,” Dean suggested.

Sam ignored him, manhandling him into little spoon position.

“Sammy.”

“Shh.”

Dean waited.

“Fine. What?”

“You've got confetti stuck in your hair.”


	292. Don't Talk - Nightmare Logic

The Impala's headlights blinked ahead of them. Mary squinted briefly, then looked at Bobby, who’d needed to be manhandled into the shotgun seat.

“How’s the arm?”

“It’ll need stitches,” he replied.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Mary asked hesitantly. “About… What happened back there...” 

“Not now,” Bobby said, not unkind, but gruff.

Mary let a few seconds pass. “Fine. Then there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

A low grunt was all the reply she got.

“You can’t talk to Sam like that,” she said, firmly. “Either of them, really, but some stuff Sam takes to heart more than Dean does. What you said was out of line.”

“Mary, honestly-”

“Be grateful I’m the one telling you this and not his brother,” Mary interrupted. “I’m actually surprised Dean didn’t rip you a new one. But that’s probably because Sam thinks it’s his job to keep him a little collared.”

Bobby sighed heavily. “Dean did talk to me. Afterwards. Gotta admit, he was nicer than you’re making him out to be.”

Mary hummed. “Probably because they’re still confusing you a little with the Bobby they knew. He did pretty much raise them.” And that was a can of worms she didn’t want to open. _Ever_. She didn’t want to know how much of a hand Bobby Singer had in her boys’ upbringing and how much John had, how much of it had been happenstance and how much had been John’s negligence.

“Mary.” Bobby’s voice was quieter now, almost delicate. “I know curiosity ganked the cat and all, but I gotta ask- Sam and Dean, are they… There’s something different about ‘em. Right?”

Mary couldn’t help the way she stiffened, hands clenching around the steering wheel. “That’s nobody’s business but their own.”

“Mary, you must have seen it too,” Bobby insisted. “I’m not saying someone should stop them, but you gotta admit- it ain’t exactly right.”

“That’s enough,” she snapped, without meaning to. Muscles tensed, she thought about how Sam had fallen apart without Dean, how Dean had nearly melted into Sam upon coming back, how they looked at each other like all they wanted to was to hold each other so close that they disappeared into one person. “They’re my boys,” she said softly. “I may not know everything about them- never will- but I know enough. They’re still _my_ boys. And you don’t talk about my boys like that, Bobby. You don’t talk _to_ them like that.”

For a minute, there was silence. Then, Bobby sighed heavily. “Yeah, alright, Mary. I get it. Fair enough.”

She ignored the twinge of pity in his voice.


	293. Same Song, Alternate Universe - Optimism

Charlie volunteered to take care of cleanup.

“I just had a revelation,” she’d laughed. “I’ll talk to them.”

Sam sat in the car, watching her talk to the authorities who’d arrived upon getting noise complaints from their battle with the giant wasps. Dean was gonna get a laugh out of that. The thought made him smile to himself. He’d just gotten the text that Jack and he had returned from their case. Something with a zombie- Jack had been ecstatic.

“You were staring at me,” Charlie commented, sliding in behind the wheel. “What’s up?”

He didn't say anything, just turned his phone towards her.

Charlie stared. “That’s her.”

“I figured,” Sam said softly. “She’s the only Kara in her thirties working in a bakery that’s famous for cupcakes. The rest are either dead with bakeries named after them or way too old for you. And there’s one who specializes in breads.”

Charlie swallowed, taking the phone from his hand with trembling fingers. “She looks the same,” she whispered. “All this time, I’ve been wondering if I should try finding her...” Then her gaze sharpened. “Why are you showing me this? You don’t want me to retire.”

Sam nodded slow. “True,” he agreed quietly. “But if I ever ended up alone in a different world, with everyone I loved from my world dead or gone… I’d want to be with them.” _Just Dean_ , he thought. Dean was the one he’d seek out and find, in every world and every life and every alternate universe out there.

Charlie nodded too, short and jerky movements. She handed the phone back. “I’ll drop you back at the bunker.” She started the car.

Sam sat back, not saying a word.

She took a deep breath, like she was steadying herself. “Thank you.”


	294. Rockabye Baby - Unhuman Nature

Rowena looked around at the three men. Sam, Dean, Castiel. They were all hunched over different tomes. Dean was rapidly skimming the texts, Castiel was muttering to himself inaudibly from an Enochian book, Sam had two different source materials open in front of him and was alternating between them.

Rowena sighed, soft so they wouldn’t hear her, save perhaps the angel. She sneaked a glance towards the hallway that led to Jack’s room. After his collapse, the poor lad had had no choice but to retire to bed.

Jack was nothing like Fergus had been. He was too innocent, where Fergus had always been clever; naïve despite fighting a war, where her own wee child had been jaded from a very early age.

Nothing alike.

And yet…

Dean got up, saying something about “Gotta feed the kid.” His tone was bland, his gait stiff and reluctant.

Castiel had worked himself into a frenzy, eyes shining bluer than normal as his near silent yammering gained speed.

Sam may as well have been a sculpted tragedy, eyes hard and narrow, mouth pinched, the only movement that of his hand as he turned pages after pages.

Rowena looked down at her notes. She already knew Jack couldn't be saved. And she knew that they knew it too. But she also knew what it felt like to lose a son. So, however futile the situation was, she would sit here and keep looking for a solution that didn't exist for as long as they wanted her to.


	295. Beautiful People - Byzantium

As they drove back to the bunker, Cas following behind on his own, Dean tried hard not to keep looking at Sam, to try and gauge how he was feeling. He didn’t really need to. Sam was still carrying the wooden handle of the broken axe and, at this point, Dean wouldn’t entirely put it past him to do something stupid.

“I wanted to,” Sam whispered.

Lost in his worry, Dean almost didn’t understand the words. “What?!”

Sam barely turned to him. “I wanted to. Sell my soul. I…” He swallowed. “When you were missing, we had a run-in with demons. Cas told you I made sure there would be no new King. And just now, I thought… Maybe if I was… If I had… All those years back…”

Dean didn’t even want to know what sort of ideas Sam had been getting. He opened his mouth to say as much.

“But everything comes with a price,” Sam went on. “And I couldn’t.” His voice broke. “I couldn’t do it, wouldn’t be able to pay. Not even to save Jack.” His voice was down to a murmur, like he was hoping no one would hear him. “What kind of a person does that make me? What kind of a…?” His breath hitched. He leaned his head back, sinking lower into the seats.

Dean blinked rapidly, not surprised to find tears pricking at his eyes. “I want him back too,” he said gruffly. “You know I do. But-” He swallowed, hoping Cas wouldn’t hate him for this. “-not if it meant losing you. Because, if you’re… Gone, then having him back wouldn’t matter. It couldn’t.” He paused to reach out and found Sam’s hand, clenched in a loose fist so the nails were in his palm. Dean forcibly unfolded it, then slid his own fingers between Sam’s long ones. “It makes me the same kind of person you are.” Because god knew he loved Jack, but he also loved Sam more. That wouldn’t change.

Sam didn’t reply. Dean wondered if a part of his brother wanted to be angry at him. Then he felt his fingers being lightly squeezed.

Sam would be okay. Dean would make sure of it.


	296. Tear Apart - The Spear

Samuel Winchester. The Vessel of the Morningstar. The to-be King of Hell.

So many titles. So many stories.

Michael had heard them all.

So much wasted potential.

He knelt, his vessel’s high heels precariously avoiding the puddle of melted gold, near Samuel’s unconscious body. A handsome face, much like his brother. A rather stubborn attitude, also like his brother.

Michael hated him almost as much as he hated Dean.

He could see his soul, of course, and it was surprisingly bright despite all the damage done to it. Michael raked his gaze over the little fissures in it, the empty pathways meant to be filled by Lucifer’s Grace, like puzzle pieces that fit together.

Maybe he could fill them. Maybe Michael could take this body. It would be almost exactly the same as Dean’s, technically. And he had no doubt that, given the option between losing himself or Dean, Samuel would be more than willing to say ‘ _yes_ '.

Lost in thought, Michael reached out, intending to wake Samuel. But when his fingertips touched his cheek, he froze. Stiffening, he glared at the sight of pristinely painted nails against the tanned skin.

He could feel Lucifer’s Grace, mere traces of it, buried deep inside Samuel’s soul, so deep that an ordinary angel would never have detected it.

Michael scowled, the human instinct of expression taking over. Damn Lucifer to Hell. Again. Twice dead but still taunting his elder brother from beyond the metaphorical grave. Petty bastard.

He should withdraw his hand now. Instead, he moved it to Samuel's hair, stroking experimentally and rubbing the silky strands between his fingers. He wouldn’t possess Samuel, sullied since he was. No, there were other uses for him.

Michael got to his feet. For a second, he stood, gazing down at Samuel’s form. _Later_ , he told himself. Once he was possessing Dean again, Samuel would be malleable and easy to force into surrender. And then…


	297. Abyss - Nihilism

The book is light- just a thin black folder, really. But it feels oddly heavy in my hands.

I gaze at the writing. The end of the world- at the hands of the Archangel Michael. Or the end of Dean Winchester- locked in his own head, entombed under the sea. And along with that would come the end of Sam Winchester- drowned alone at the bottom of a lake, still behind the wheel of his car, his face frozen in an expression of calm.

It would be the end of so many problems. The Winchesters would finally be done away with, asleep forever in the Empty. And Michael would still be trapped. No one left to open rifts, or interrupt my reading time, or break the natural order.

And yet…

I can’t bring myself to force this issue. It would be unfair and cheating.

I sigh to myself. Maybe the choice is best left to the humans. Despite causing as many problems as they do, they make a genuine effort to clean it up as well.

I’m not changing my mind on throwing them into the Abyss. But I can give them this option. And I can hope they’ll make the right one, but… I’m Death. Hope isn’t part of the job description.


	298. No Rights - Damaged Goods

Sam sat on the bench outside of the cabin, staring blankly out at the fields. Mom must have gone to bed after chewing Dean out too, because in a few minutes, Dean was sliding in beside him. They weren’t close enough to touch. Dean was keeping his distance, probably a little wary of him.

Good. The way Sam could barely breathe right now, Dean should be wary.

“Mom’s upset too,” Dean murmured.

Sam just shot him a sharp look, because really, what the hell had he expected? That they would all let him go quietly?

Dean sighed, offered him the beer he was holding. Sam declined with a shake of his head. It wasn’t a good idea for him to drink right now- he might do something stupid. And now was not the time for that.

Dean took a drink instead. “What are you gonna do?” He asked, voice soft in the darkness. “After I… After? What are you gonna do?”

Sam forced himself not to move, not to fidget. “Nothing good. But you don’t need to worry about it, since you won’t be around.”

A small, hurt noise escaped Dean, obviously involuntary, like Sam had physically punched him. “Sam.”

He sounded resigned and it made Sam feel like there was a long barbed wire wrapping around his heart and squeezing tight. Again, he fought the urge to comfort his brother. He knew what Dean was doing right now, that he was trying to get Sam to open up and break down so Dean could comfort him with useless words, and convince him not just to help but also that this was the right way to go.

Well, too bad. Sam could play that game too.

Dean put a shaky hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, come on, man, don't be like that.” He was trying to sound upbeat, aloof- it came off as hysterical. “You gotta… Sammy…”

“What?” Sam finally snapped, turning to look at Dean, but careful not to dislodge the hand on his shoulder. “What do you want me to say? That I'll be okay? That mom and Jack and Cas will help me heal and I'll move on, that I'll keep fighting? That what you wanna hear?” He spat the words out, poisonously passive, not letting any of the anger or hurt or panic show on his face.

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.

Sam laughed, harsh and grating. “Well, you can't have everything you want. You wanted my help and support with this crap, you've got it. But that's all.”

“I'm not asking for much here, Sam,” Dean tried to say, voice shaky. “I'm just asking for you to take care of yourself.”

Sam shook his head and got to his feet. “You don't _get_ to ask that from me,” he said, almost a declaration, despite the wobble in his own words and the trembling of his chin. “You’re leaving me. You don’t get a say in what I do or what happens to me after that.”

“Sammy…” Dean all but whined, looking small and defeated and weak.

Sam thought he could probably break him now and Dean wouldn't lift a finger in defense. It made him want to sit back down and hug him tightly, fall to his knees and beg him to reconsider.

But it didn't work that way.

So Sam swallowed back all his pain. “You should get some sleep.” He meant it to sound gentle; it came out as tearful.

Dean looked up at him, eyes gleaming in the dark like a cat’s, lips quivering.

Sam turned away.

Dean had said that Sam was the only who could talk him out of this. Well, fine then. Sam was going to do exactly that.


	299. Safe And Sound - Prophet And Loss

Neither Jack nor Cas really looked him in the eye as Dean shouldered past everyone and went straight to the bedroom.

He pretty much collapsed on the bed, bending over to hide his head between his arms and his fingers locking behind his neck.

There was a jackhammer inside his head- Michael, pissed off and a little worried. Every now and then, he would stop yelling to taunt instead. His nightmare from last night had been courtesy of Archangel magic too. Right now though, the yelling was back, and Dean was finding it hard to focus on something else.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled lowly.

Michael ignored him.

“Dean, hey,” a soft voice was saying. “Dean?”

There were fingers prying his hands apart, palms cupping his cheeks. Oh, this was real.

Dean blinked his eyes open. “Sammy.”

Sam tried to smile. “You with me?”

Dean nodded, directing all his focus to his little brother, who was kneeling in front of him and was staring at him with a look of worry.

Sam’s fingers found their way to Dean’s temples and started rubbing firm circles there. Dean allowed himself to relax.

“You can’t get lost in your head like that,” Sam told him seriously. There was a hint of remaining slur in his voice, the effects of the alcohol not entirely dissipated. “You gotta stay in the real world, with me. Stone number one, right?”

Dean couldn’t help a little smile at the reminder. Not that he missed the Leviathan or Sam’s slow descent into madness.

“I’m not gonna apologize for that.” Sam nodded at him.

Dean rolled his eyes, then winced at the slight pain it caused. “What, hitting me? It’s not even gonna bruise, were you even trying to do any damage? And, anyway, I kinda had it coming.”

Sam shook his head. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just needed you to pay attention to me.” He sounded almost petulant.

Dean stared at Sam’s face. He had to hand it to the guy, he’d really spent the whole day playing Dean like a fiddle- not letting him talk about their lives, swinging from hurt and upset to cold resignation, choosing a case involving brothers, then finally getting tipsy enough to loosen his tongue and shoot his verbal filter to Hell. It had worked.

And honestly, Dean should have seen this coming.

As it was, he was so lost in thought, he completely missed it when Sam pressed a kiss to his slack mouth.

“In my dream,” Dean murmured, turning his head slightly to breath in Sam’s girly shampoo. “The one Michael created- Rocky’s Bar. He didn’t really want me to be happy, just content. So, he, uh… He didn’t put you there.” He chuckled a little, self-deprecating, remembering how Pamela had asked him why he always wanted things he couldn’t have. “And he made it so that we weren’t… You and I… We didn’t…” Funny how there still wasn’t a right way to put words to he and Sam.

Sam got it anyway. His fingertips dug a little deeper into Dean’s skin. “Good thing we got you outta there.”

Dean hummed in agreement. “He’s kinda obsessed with you.”

Sam stiffened and Dean, fearful that he might try to move away, grabbed Sam’s waist in mild panic. Sam relaxed again, deliberate.

“Obsessed?”

Dean swallowed, nodding. “I don’t know what he wants to do to you. But the first time he had me, he spent a lot of time looking through memories of you. And I’d say it’s a safe bet that he's not planning anything good.”

Sam was silent for some time. When he spoke again, it sounded almost annoyed. “Tell me the truth.” He pulled back a little. “This stupid plan of yourselves- would you be so dead set on it if Michael wasn’t interested in me?”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Maybe not. But, you know, you once made me let you jump into the deepest part of Hell with Satan hitching a ride in your head. And I did it. How is this any different?” He opened his eyes to look at Sam. “I’m asking for the same thing here, Sam.”

Sam bit his lip, scowling. “It’s different,” he said. “Because we’re different. We’re different together. We want different things from back then. What I asked of you that time doesn’t, in any way, apply to who we are now.”

Dean knew he was right, kind of. Nine, almost ten, years ago, he’d been the one aching for normalcy, for civilian life. So he’d thought. It had taken losing Sam for him to realize he was wrong. Now, all he really wanted, as should have been his answer to dream-Pamela, was Sam. And he had him.

“You’re right,” Dean gave in. “I can’t ask you to be okay with it. Or to move on and find a way to be happy. But that doesn't change the fact that if nothing else works out, then I have to do this. I won't have any other option.”

Sam barely flinched. “Then you better rebuild that box for two,” he said firmly, a bit of fear and pleading still there. “Because you're sure as hell not going anywhere without me.”

Dean wanted to argue, wanted to protest. His heart gave a painful clench. At the same time, something in him settled, at peace with the idea of spending eternity locked up as long as he got to do it with Sam.

So he simply didn't answer.

Sam, satisfied with his victory, muttered a complaint about his knees and pushed off the floor. He tugged Dean along, until they were both lying down.

“Can't sleep for too long,” Dean said. “Michael might get out.”

“Just a couple hours,” Sam promised, low and soft and sweet. “I’ll stay up to keep watch.”

There was a Twilight-based joke on the tip of his tongue, but Sam's blunt nails ran across his scalp, making his eyes fall close. The emotional torrent of the day caught up to him and he was too exhausted to open them again.

Surrounded by warmth and Sammy, he fell asleep quickly.


	300. Miracles Do Happen - Lebanon

John wanted to know, so badly. All through dinner, the question was hanging off the tip of his tongue, half-formed and vague.

The way the boys looked at each other, the way they seemed to be oriented towards each other, always moving in sync without a word. It was like playing with magnets. One moved, the other followed. Take them apart and they’d gravitate together again. It was exactly how they were back in his time, how they used to be before Sammy left for college, just multiplied by ten.

But there really was no way to ask your sons if they were… Not quite brotherly.

“Uh, I’ll just go wash the dishes,” Sam muttered, quickly gathering everything up.

Dean got up almost immediately. “Yeah, I’ll come with. Uh, you guys…” He waved a hand at John and Mary, half-smiling, abashed and giddy and sad at the same time. “Just do your thing.”

He led Sam out, who gave them a more easy smile, which did nothing to hide the way he kept tearing up every time he looked at them for too long.

John found Mary’s hand again. It was easy, familiar. The only difference was that he now knew the exact reason for Mary’s hand always being rough and calloused. Hunting.

“They’re good kids, aren’t they?” Mary asked, voice soft.

John smiled at her. “Can’t really take the credit for that.” He shot a glance in the direction of the kitchen. “I screwed up with them. Badly.”

Mary squeezed his hand. Her eyes, the same green as Dean’s, were shiny with tears. “I know. But you did your best. You loved them, you protected them.”

John wondered how much Sam and Dean had omitted while telling their mother about their childhood. Almost consequentially, he wondered how much they’d omitted about the last 13 years for his sake.

“You know I used to think Samuel hit you?” He asked, out-of-the-blue.

Mary looked surprised. “Wha- my dad?”

He chuckled. “You always had scars and bruises. One of our dates, you showed up with stitches on your forehead.” He traced a finger above her brow, remembered silently fretting over the half-healed gash as he told stupid jokes to make her laugh over their lunch. “You were in such a bad mood. I figured something must have happened at home.”

Mary blushed, gaze flitting away. “That was some or the monster. And I was pretty much always in a bad mood with dad, what with me wanting to quit hunting.”

“You wanted to quit?” John raised an eye brow. “So, after we married…?”

“Just one werewolf I’d been tracking for years, a couple months before I got pregnant with Dean.” She shrugged. “I used to hate it. Didn’t want to think about putting my kids through the same childhood that I had…” Her words faltered. She winced slightly.

John sighed sadly. In the end, her worst fears had been recognized, after all. He hated himself for that, but he also knew that he’d done something right. Their boys had been destined for terrible things in life. At least, John had been able to prepare them for that, somewhat.

“Anyway,” Mary resumed, covering up the slip. “I used to fight with my father about it, all the time.”

John couldn’t help a small laugh. “Well, that’s news. Now I know where Sammy got it from.”

Mary made a face. “Yes, and I know where they got their habit of biting nails from.” She gave him a pointed glare that made him grin.

They sat in silence for a while. If John focused really hard, he could almost hear Sam and Dean whispering in the kitchen, though he couldn’t quite make out the words.

“The boys… They’re… Are they…?” He trailed off. He knew Mary didn’t spend all her time with them, that she was usually out and about. What if she didn’t know… Or hadn’t seen… He didn’t want to break that illusion, he decided. If she truly didn’t notice the way Sam and Dean stood too close, looked at each other with just a little too much love, then he wasn’t going to tell her. It would break her heart. “Are they happy?” He asked finally.

Mary stared at him. She looked towards the kitchen too. She was thinking about something, visibly making a decision. When she looked back at him, John could make out a glint of sadness.

“Mary?”

“They’re happy, John,” she told him, soft and gentle in a way he didn’t think he deserved. “And as long as they have each other, they will always be happy.”

John wondered why it felt like she was omitting things too. Maybe somethings did run in the blood.

He just nodded. “That’s good enough for me.” And it really was.


	301. Ashes To Ashes - Ouroboros

Funnily enough, it was Rowena who approached him first.

“How are you doing, Samuel?” She asked.

Sam shook his head, angrily hacking away at the logs to build a pyre big enough for everyone they just lost.

Rowena sighed. “You did your best. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Sam scoffed. But he straightened to look at her. “What about you? Are you okay?” He knew what possession could do to a person. Knew it better than most.

She looked away from him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Sam shook his head. “You did what you had to do. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

She laughed harshly at having her own words thrown back at her. “And do what instead? Drink myself to death like Dean? Work myself to distraction like you?”

Sam would have laughed if he had the energy to fake it. “We all know you’re too smart to take cues on healthy ways to deal from a Winchester,” he said.

The ghost of a smirk flitted over her stark red lips. It was hollow and without feeling; guilt plagued them both. And Dean and Cas and Jack.

Rowena turned to see them working on carrying the bodies out.

“Will you be alright?” She asked. “And Dean?”

Sam sighed. “We’ll get there. Hopefully. What about you?”

She sighed too. “I'll get there. Hopefully.” She snapped her fingers and the pyre was set aflame.

Together, they all watched the embers rise up to the sky.


	302. Pursuit Of Happiness - Peace Of Mind

The phone rang as they were driving back to the bunker. Dean took a peek at Jack. The kid had fallen asleep. Apparently, lack of a soul didn’t mess with _his_ sleep schedule all that much. Maybe he did have enough left. Or maybe it just affected Nephilim differently.

_Whatever_. Dean answered the call. “Hey, Cas.”

“ _Dean_.” Cas' voice was grave. Graver than usual.

Dean frowned immediately. “What’s wrong? Where’s Sam?”

“ _He’s asleep._ ”

“You got him to sleep?” Dean asked, a little impressed.

“ _Uh, not exactly. I threatened to knock him out if he didn’t_.”

Dean huffed amusedly. “Okay, that counts. So what is it?”

“ _Nothing. Just telling you that we’ll be back at the bunker by tonight. I know you and Sam are always in constant communication when on separate hunts, so I thought I should tell you_.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Cas. So, how was the hunt?”

There was silence.

Dean felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten. Was Sam hurt? “Cas?” The warning note in his voice was unmistakable.

Cas sighed. And began to explain.

Dean listened. The car rolled to a stop. Jack remained blissfully asleep.

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Cas. We’ll see you guys at the bunker.” He ended the call and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Sam with a cardigan, thick glasses and his hair in a small ponytail.

He couldn't see it.

What he saw instead was Sam at the war table, bent over a thick book but looking up with a fond smile, hair loose around his ears and eyes crinkled with exasperated humor. At Dean.

_He's happy_ , Dean tried to tell himself. _He's happy with me._

But maybe… Maybe there was a part of Sam that was… Tired.

Dean clicked his tongue at himself- a habit he’d picked up from Sam, he realized- and started the car again.

He’d just ask Sam directly.


	303. Time Off - Don't Go Into The Woods

They sent Jack off to bed. Somehow, Sam could tell he was shaken up about something. Maybe something had happened while he'd been shopping? But Sam was too tired to deal with it now. Wow, he'd gotten old. It was a nice feeling.

Something small hit him in the forehead.

“Hey!” he complained. It was a penny. He looked up at Dean.

His brother handed a cup of coffee to him. “For your thoughts.” He settled in next to him on the bed. “What's on your mind?”

Sam shrugged. “Worrying about Jack, that's it. Not much else to think about.”

Dean leaned closer, lips skimming up Sam's jaw. “Want a distraction?” He whispered, tugging on his earlobe.

Sam shuddered, eyes slipping close as Dean kissed back down to his neck. About time too. For almost two weeks, ever since the other hunters… Ever since Michael was killed, Dean had been so careful with Sam, like he was afraid of breaking him.

But Sam needed the distraction and even after all this time, he didn't always know how to ask Dean for something he wanted.

So, Dean licked a line across the hollow of his throat and Sam had just enough presence of mind to place his coffee on the bedside table before tugging Dean into a kiss.

“I thought you'd never ask,” he murmured in answer and pulled Dean on top of himself.


	304. T Minus - Game Night

It took four minutes.

Dean still wasn’t entirely sure whether he really had heard Sam call his name or if it had just been the sick feeling inside his stomach, but he knew Sam needed him. Then there had been the car’s horn and it didn’t matter _how_ he knew, only that _Sam needed him._

It took Dean four minutes to get to him. Four minutes and it was already too late.

Dean had never seen Sam so pale, his nose tinged pink from the cold, blood shining bright red on his temple and eyelid. The sight made him nauseous.

“Hey, hey, hey, Sammy, look at me, hey, come on,” Dean urged, cupping the wounded side of his head. He wanted to cradle him closer, but there was just enough sense left in him to know that would be a bad idea.

Sam’s eyes were clouded, unfocused. “D-Dean,” he gasped, voice raspy and breathless. He was twitching slightly from side to side, like he could hear Dean’s words but couldn’t triangulate the source.

_Brain damage_ flitted through Dean’s mind and he nearly sobbed. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here,” he soothed brokenly, trying to stem the blood flow with a scarf. It wasn’t enough. Damn it, why hadn’t he been faster? “Listen, we’re gonna play a game here, okay? We’re gonna count, count with me, come on. One.”

Sam exhaled shakily, but didn’t answer.

“Two,” Dean kept trying, frantic.

Sam arched up with a painful whimper. “Two.” He seemed to nod a bit, like he was affirming the command.

Dean nodded too, blinking back tears. “Good, that’s good. Three.”

Sam’s eyes stopped flitting, half-lidded, fixing on a point that was only visible to him. “You’ve always… You've always put me first.” He was breathless, barely audible.

Dean shook his head. “No, no, don’t talk like that,” he admonished, knowing he sounded desperate. This was too familiar, too close to something else, the ground beneath his knees wet with snow instead of mud, cold sun instead of nighttime, and Sam’s life fading under his hands, no matter how hard Dean tried to hold on.

Sam’s breath stuttered, eyes drooping. “Your whole life,” he murmured. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, pink and bruised.

Dean tried to smile too, if only in reassurance. “Okay, okay. Just, count with me, now, come on.”

There was no answer.

“Sammy?” He shook his shoulder gently, lightly slapping his face. “Sammy?”

Dean didn’t bother counting how long he stayed frozen like that, just cupping Sam’s face and smoothing back his hair, mindlessly begging, “Wake up, Sammy, please, come on, you gotta count, Sammy, Sammy, please, please…”


	305. Over Again - Absence

Sam didn’t see it coming when Dean mauled him against the car, gripping his face so tight it hurt, kissing him so desperately their teeth clacked harshly, legs tangling and making them both almost lose their balance.

But he didn’t protest, just let Dean affirm his living status however he needed.

Lost in a confusing haze of worry and guilt, it took him a second to realize that Dean was saying something, mumbling the words right into Sam’s mouth.

“Wait, what, Dean, what?” He managed to pull away a little.

Dean, on his toes between the V of his legs, blinked dazedly, like he hadn’t noticed himself talking. Then awareness and anguish filtered in. “I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered.

Sam felt the guilt rise. “Dean…”

“I can’t!” Dean was shaking. “I was, god, I had to, had to watch you, I held you through it, and I could see you dying, and you kept talking, and, I couldn’t stop it…” He laughed, broken and grating. “Whoever’s running Hell nowadays, I doubt they’d want my soul now. What was I supposed to…?” He trailed off, not voicing the question they both knew the unspoken answer to.

Sam pulled him closer, tucking himself into Dean’s embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “It was my fault, I underestimated him. I hesitated to kill him, when I could have.”

Dean was shaking all around him, even his lips trembling as they trailed along Sam’s hairline, fingers tightly wound in the hair at his nape. “I can’t do that again,” he mumbled. “I can’t… I can’t do that again.”

Later, Dean would grin and make a half-hearted joke about how many hits to the head Sam got. For now, Sam was content to just stay like this for a few more minutes.


	306. Bitter - Jack In The Box

With Jack locked away, Dean turned to Sam. His face was almost blank, though not quite.

“Sam…”

Sam shook his head, eyes fixed as far away from the door as possible, the door behind which Jack was. “I promised him I’d keep him safe,” he muttered. “When we first found him. He asked me if I’d protect him and I promised I would.” He fixed Dean with a broken gaze. “Even from you.”

Dean didn’t flinch, but it was close. “Sam, there is no other way,” he stressed.

Sam looked away again. “I swore to myself that I would never let him go through anything like what I had faced. And, now, he’s…” He gestured helplessly. “Soulless. Labelled a monster by the people who’re supposed to love him. And locked away, alone, by those same people.”

Everything about Sam in this moment was tinged with bitterness. Dean felt it in the back of his throat, the roof of his mouth.

“Yeah, but with you, there was a hope of saving you,” Dean reminded him. “With Jack… Sam, we don’t even know how to start fixing him.”

Sam stood stock-still, blinking fast. Dean thought about his breakdown in the woods last night. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have left Sam to handle all the other hunters on his own. It meant he hadn’t had any time to grieve mom. And now, Jack…

“The worst part,” Sam whispered. “Is he only burned his soul off to kill Michael. But even knowing that, if I could go back to the night I talked you out of getting into that box, I’d make the same choices.” His face crumpled. “What does that make me? What kind of a…?”

He stumbled forward and Dean was right there to catch him, wishing there was anything he could say to make his hurt less.


	307. Welcome To The End - Moriah

Jack is screaming, white light pouring out of his eyes.

Cas is kneeling next to him, trying and failing to heal him, to somehow reverse the godly smiting.

Dean is a couple feet away on the ground, slowly rolling over.

Chuck is walking away.

And all Sam can think is _You did this to us_.

He picks up the gun- the Equalizer.

He takes a second to consider it.

He can kill Chuck, kill God. End the universe and all other universes out there. Destroy everything. They saved it enough times, after all.

He knows Dean will be okay with it. They've both lived more than one lifetime after all. And it’s not like anyone will be left behind to hate the Winchesters for it.

He can do it.

But…

Maybe it’s spite, maybe it’s pettiness, maybe it’s rage- but Sam doesn’t want to die. Not today, not like this.

It only takes a second to decide.

“Hey, Chuck!” He bellows.

Chuck turns.

Sam takes aim and shoots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is it, guys. Time for the hiatus. Good luck for the finale. Take care of yourselves.


	308. Memory Lane - Back And To The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Hope y'all are still here and enjoying this!

They stood in the dark, staring at the broken-down car. 

“Do you think…?” Sam peered at the woods. “Should we at least look for his body? We can do without an extra ghost.”

“Yeah, okay.” Frankly, Dean didn't see what difference one extra ghost would make, but he needed a minute alone to clear his head. “Cas, stay here, keep an eye on the demon.”

“Uh, my name’s Belphe-”

“Dean, I’m not-”

“Stab him if you think you should,” Sam half-snarled, throwing a derisive looking at what used to be Jack. 

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and, with a gentle tug, led him into the trees. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah. You?”

Dean snorted. “Peachy. You really think it was a good idea to give Cas blanket permission to stab him?”

Sam shrugged. “He knows we need the guy, Dean, he's not an idiot.”

“You sure about that?” Dean couldn’t help but mutter. Mom’s death was still at the back of his mind, weighing him down. Had it really only been two days ago? 

Sam sighed. “Dean…” He sounded weary.

Dean swung his flashlight on to him, peering closely. “And don’t get me started on _you_!”

Sam looked taken aback. “What did I do?”

“Shooting Chuck?” Dean demanded. “Tell me you _meant_ to aim for the shoulder and didn’t just miss.”

Sam narrowed his eyes in warning. “I don’t know whether to be offended that you think my aim could be so bad, or point out your mile-wide hypocrisy.”

“Hypocrisy?!”

“You were about to shoot _Jack_!” Sam exclaimed. “Hell, if we hadn’t shown up, you probably would have.”

Dean glared, knowing Sam was right. 

Sam glared right back, daring him to deny it. 

Dean took a deep breath. They couldn’t fight right now. “How’s the shoulder?”

Sam took a moment, testing the movement of his arm. “Fine, I think. It’s just a little sore.”

“You think Chuck was lying?”

“No, no.” Sam shook his head. “I definitely felt something when I shot him. Fell down too.”

“He said the gun fired a piece of your soul.” Dean started forward, hand reaching out. “Here, let me-”

Sam had already started moving forward. “Dean, it’s fine. You can check it later if you want, but we need to move now.”

Dean resigned himself to Sam’s stubbornness and followed. 

They found the body around ten minutes later, with deep gashes down his chest, clothes torn and stiff with blood. 

The burning process was awful, with it being so fresh. 

“I can’t believe they’re all back,” Sam muttered. “The Woman in White, Bloody Mary, the drowned ghost kid…” His face scrunched up as he tried to remember.

“Killer clown,” Dean added with a half-hearted smile. 

Sam elbowed him. “Shut up.”

As the body fell into ashes and the smell of flesh got left behind them, Dean stopped Sam again. 

Sam waited, looking down at him with a patiently quirked eyebrow. 

Dean mulled over in his head for something to say, something to reassure Sam, or maybe ask for assurance himself. But words weren’t his forte, really. So, with an exasperated shake of his head at himself, he pulled Sam down into a brief kiss. 

Sam breathed out slowly, resting their foreheads together. “We can do this,” he murmured. “Just have to get the people out and then we’re free to trap them all. Maybe Rowena can help too.”

Dean nodded and pulled away. “Come on. Let’s make sure Cas and the demon didn’t kill each other.”


	309. Green-Tinted Glasses - Raising Hell

“Ketch? Really?”

Rowena gave him a coy look from under her lashes. “Are you jealous?” She teased.

Sam, predictably, rolled his eyes. He looked pointedly through the glass doors, to where his brother and the angel were communing with the hunters. “Nothing to be jealous of,” he reminded. “Mine’s better than yours.”

Dean might have choked on air if he’d been present to hear that. But Rowena had known about Sam’s secret feistiness for a while now. “Head out of the gutter, Samuel,” she trilled.

“You bring it out in me,” he said with a shrug and a wee grin.

Rowena stopped her work, fixed him with a stare. “Keep smiling like that, Samuel,” she advised. “Worry will only age you faster. After all, look at me: 300 years old, but I don’t look a day above thirty-five.”

The smile turned softer, sadder. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s… Good advice. I guess.” He heaved a sigh. “Easy to say, not so easy to actually do it.”

“Bless you, darling, you just described the act of living.”

A huff of laughter escaped the boy. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Again.”

“Hmm. You’d do well to take my advice more often.”

Sam smiled at her again. Then, his gaze grew contemplative. “Thirty-five?” He asked. “Sure?”

Rowena stopped to glare at him. “Are you trying to say I look older?”

“Well…”

“Samuel, I still have the animal transformation spell handy, I’m warning you!”

Sam threw his hands up in defense. “Not a day older,” he promised.

She gave him a sweet smile. “Oh, you charmer.”


	310. The Third Wheel - The Rupture

The silence was heavy. Dean was looking at the healed crack, trying to process. Cas looked at him- Dean tensed, like he could feel the gaze. So, Cas shifted his eyes, looked at Sam. He was looking down at his own hands. They were covered in blood. 

“Sam?” Cas called, his voice sounding hoarser than it usually did. 

He didn’t answer, just stayed frozen. He looked ready to cry, even though the tear tracks on his face were long since dried. 

Dean turned too. “Sammy?”

Sam turned quietly and started walking in the direction of the car. 

Cas glanced at Dean. 

Dean didn’t look at him. “Come on,” he just said. 

Sam was already in his seat, head resting on the window and eyes closed. 

Dean gave him a look full of worry, full of pain. His hands twitched on the wheel, like he wanted to reach out and offer comfort but was unsure of how welcome it would be. 

Cas swallowed. “Sam, I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I really am, I didn’t have-”

“Stop,” Sam whispered. “Please, just… Not now.”

Dean met his eyes, finally, in the rearview mirror. They were blank, devoid of emotion, and it was worse than the rage of before. It hurt more. 

Cas closed his own eyes. He wondered if Belphegor had been right after all. Perhaps he had outlived his friendship with the Winchesters. Perhaps he’d finally made one mistake too many, however well intended. 


	311. Different You's And Me's - Atomic Monsters

_“Sam! Sam, what's going on, what is that, what-?”_

_Sam turned to her, gripping the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him. “It’s okay,” he lied. “It’s gonna be okay, Jess.” But he was decades out of practice, the curved dagger felt awkward in his hands, and there was a demon in their house._

_A demon wearing a face that Sam hadn't seen since he’d run away to California._

_“Come on, Sammy,” Dean Winchester’s voice mocked. He appeared in the room, leaning casually against the door. “You gotta know how this ends. Right above your bed.”_

_Sam shook his head. “Get out,” he growled, but it was weak, scared. “Get out of my- get out of Dean.”_

_Green eyes flashed black. “See, that’s where you’re wrong- I am Dean.”_

_“That’s not possible.”_

_“Isn’t it?” Dean- the demon- tilted his head questioningly. “I went to Hell. In exchange for Dad’s life. Spent some time on the rack, put people **on** the rack. And, voila.” He spread his arms wide, cocky and confident and not looking a minute older than 27. “Of course, you might be less surprised if you’d just come with me when I’d asked for your help.” He paused. “Back when I was still human, I mean. And now... Well. Now you won't have a choice but to stay with me."_

_“Dean,” Sam begged. “Please. I’m sorry. Just… Don’t do this.”_

_The answering smile was cruel. His gaze flicked to Jess._

_“No, Dean, don’t!”_

_Jessica never saw it coming. Still shaking in fear, her body was yanked to the far wall by an invisible hook, pulling her up, up and up, until she was on the ceiling, forced into muteness and her wide eyes fixed on Sam._

_Everything burst into flames._

_“Jess!” Sam screamed._

_Dean’s laughter rang clear and Sam didn’t try to fight the knife that aimed for his-_

Sam gasped into consciousness. The room was dark. He could still hear the screaming, his own and… Jessica’s. 

_Just a dream_ , he told himself. Clearly brought on by admitting out loud to Dean that he still thought about her sometimes. 

Speaking of… He turned his head, found Dean thankfully still asleep, on his back, one arm carelessly outstretched over Sam’s chest. 

Sam breathed out slowly, staring at his brother, trying to make out his features without light. He had to get it together. He couldn’t let Dean carry the both of them like this. It would break him. 

Slowly, he shifted closer to Dean, reached out to reassure himself with a touch of warm skin, and tried to go back to sleep. 


	312. Fantasies: Overrated - Proverbs 17:3

And to think, Dean mused, that a month ago, he'd been considering retirement. But then they'd both needed the work, needed to be able to do some good. And they almost had, but… 

Chuck and his literally goddamned stories. 

He looked over at Sam, who was drinking his scotch faster than he usually did. 

“How does it happen?” Dean heard himself ask. “In your dreams?”

Sam paused in the act of pouring himself another glass. His eyes looked green right now in the bright fluorescent light, wide and dazed. “You’re a demon. Or a Knight of Hell, with the Mark and the First Blade. I'm on demon blood, and then I'm Lucifer.” There was a certain apathy to the words, like Sam was trying not to care. If he'd been sober, he'd have flinched at his own voice. 

Dean wanted, quite suddenly, to get up from his seat and straddle his brother, kiss him deeply for hours until they were only breathing each other, drag him to the bed and press closer and closer, until they were too close to ever pull apart, until killing one would mean killing the other. Except… Wasn’t that how it had always been? 

Sam seemed to sense the change in him, freezing with his glass half way to his lips, eyes darkening as he stared back, even as confusion made his eyebrow quirk up in silent question. His gaze flicked down to Dean’s lips. 

Dean swallowed. “I don’t know what’s real,” he mumbled. _Are we real?_

Sam sighed, his gaze gentling. “I know. I don’t…” _I don’t know either. I’m sorry I don’t know how to help you. I’m sorry I don’t have anything to say._

Dean couldn’t help the little flare of disappointment. “I’m going to bed. You?”

Sam nodded and followed him in perfect quiet. 


	313. The Colour Of Envy - Golden Time

“You sure we can’t keep it?” Dean asked. “It’s kinda cute.” He gently stroked a fingertip over the voodoo doll’s midsection.

Sure enough, Sam felt the tickle in his stomach. “Very funny, Dean. Give it here.”

Dean’s grin was small, but it was a start. “Aww, come on. Look, it even looks like you.” He tugged on the hair- Sam’s real hair- attached to the top of the head. 

Again, Sam felt an actual sting in his scalp. “Oh, for Go- give it to me!” He snatched the twine figure before Dean could do anything more to it. 

“Hey, hey, be careful with it!” Dean admonished. “It’s you!”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam ignored the little urge to squeeze the doll in his hand, just to see how bad it would hurt him. Instead, he dropped it into the bowl, lit a match on it and recited the spell to break the voodoo. 

“Cas is hunting some djinn,” Dean said without preamble. “Thought you'd want to know.”

Sam frowned. “He called you?” 

He shrugged. “On the FBI number. He said he didn’t check his messages, so I brought him up to speed.”

Sam rubbed his temple. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Dean.”

“Look, I didn’t tell him to go, okay?” Dean said, turning away. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised he did,” Sam told him, following. “Would it kill you to call him and tell him you forgive him? He made a mistake, everybody does that!”

Dean gave him a dark look. “I’ll tell him when I want to tell him.”

Sam resisted the urge to hit his head against the table. 

“Anyway, you, uh… Coming to bed?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I’m still keyed up. I think I’ll just… I don’t know, see if there’s something about Chuck, or even Lilith, in the books.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, sure, let’s do that.”

Sam peered at Dean. He still looked drawn, still looked like he was dragging his feet. He needed to kill something. And to rest. Preferably in reverse order. 

“No, Dean, you know what, you get some rest,” he said. “You’re wiped out, man, and you hate research anyway, you’ll just distract me. Then we’ll never get anything done.”

Dean gave him a wolfish grin and an inviting wink, but it faded quickly. “You sure?”

Sam waved his question away. “Sure, yeah. Besides, Eileen is still on a post-resurrection high; she’ll keep me company.”

Dean blinked. He leaned back in his chair a little, an odd look stealing over his face. Sam could only identify it as calculating. 

“Eileen, huh?” He mused. 

Sam felt wariness creep in. “Yeah… Is there a problem?” He frowned. “I thought you liked her.”

“No, I do,” Dean was quick to reassure. “I do. And I'm glad she's back. I know you really cared about her.”

Sam tilted his head. “So… What's the matter?”

Dean rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “There is no matter,” he insisted, sounding exasperated. “Jeez, loosen up.” He stretched, finishing off the last of his beer. “Okay, I’m hitting the sack. You go get your… Nerd-gasms.” 

“Right. Goodnight.” Sam grabbed his arm, intending to pull him down into a kiss.

But Dean resisted the tug, placing a hand on his good shoulder in warning. “She might walk in,” he murmured. 

Sam almost asked, _So?_

But Dean just smiled, patted the side of his neck, and twisted free. “Night, Sammy.”

Sam sat at the table for several minutes, trying to work out what he’d missed. 


	314. Loved You First - Last Call

"Sock on the door, yeah?” He said it with a healthy dose of humor, in case he really was reading everything wrong. 

Sam just rolled his eyes and smiled, amused, like he thought Dean was an idiot. 

And, maybe he was, yeah. But, here was Eileen, a girl Sam had always liked, who’d always liked Sam and was obviously looking for more than friendship, and Dean was just… Damn, he really was turning into a teenager. 

He felt, more than saw, Sam beginning to reach for him. And if he did, Dean would melt into it and let Sam do whatever the hell he wanted. 

So, he stepped back, turning away. 

He didn't need to see the flicker of confusion and worry that crossed Sam's features as he yelled, “Call me if you need me!"

“Always do!"

But as he slid into the Impala, he got the sudden urge to run back up, grab Sam and demand, “I change my mind, come with me.” 

But he couldn’t. He had to give Sam a chance, give Eileen a chance… 

_ You could just go ask him _ , a small and sensible part of him said. It sounded almost annoyingly like a sixteen-year-old version of his little brother. 

But Dean didn't know if he should do that. Sam might believe that they’d always made their own choices, but Dean didn't see how that helped when all the choices had been presented by Chuck. 

What if they weren't really supposed to be this way? What if it was just another one of Chuck’s experiments? Every time they'd touched, or kissed, or done all that crazy crap for each other- how much of that had been a hack writer’s sick fantasies and how much of it had been Sam and Dean? 

No, Dean couldn’t take that chance, couldn’t risk asking for fear of what the answer might be. But Eileen… 

If what he and Sam had were real, then it wouldn’t work out with Eileen, right? Right. He had to believe in that. 

And if his worst fears came true… Well, at least, Dean was sure that Eileen was just about perfect for his brother. 


	315. History - Our Father, Who Aren't In Heaven

_Last time I saw you, in the Cage…_

“Sammy?”

He started, looking over his shoulder to find Dean closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” Sam greeted. “You okay?”

Dean looked confused as he shrugged his flannel off, tossing it on the hook- shedding armor, as it were. 

“I mean, it can’t be easy,” Sam went on. “For you. Having Michael here. And so soon after Texas…” He trailed off, not wanting to bring up Dean’s old friend. 

Dean hesitated for a moment, then sat beside him on the bed. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“I'm fine.”

“Sam-”

“No, really, I’m-”

“I know you never talked about it,” Dean spoke over him. “But I know the gist of what went down in that Cage, okay?”

Sam swallowed _(blue eyes, red eyes, burning Grace, anger, anger, so much anger)_ , and pushed the memories away. “Michael… He only stuck around for… I don't know how long. But just the beginning. And then, he… I guess I didn't matter to him enough.” He gave a hollow laugh. If only Lucifer had shared that sentiment. 

Dean dragged a hand down his face, tugged the neck of his Henley, rubbed the denim of his jeans- then finally reached for Sam, his fingers curling around the back of his neck. 

Sam tilted his head back into the grasp, grateful for the touch after nearly a week of Dean avoiding him. Which, despite Sam’s somewhat above average intelligence, had taken way too long to puzzle out. 

“I _am_ sorry,” Dean said in a low voice, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “That we never got Adam out. But… He got ten years. Michael made sure of that. That’s…”

Sam turned his head to look at him. “Lucky?” He finished, in a wry tone. 

Dean looked guilty. “I got forty,” he reminded. “You… We don’t even have an exact number for you.”

Sam almost smiled. It was always nice to be reminded that he was a couple centuries old in a different plane of existence. “Did Cas say how long he’d take to talk to Michael?” 

“Nope. Wanna change the subject?”

“Uh, yeah, please.”

“So, you and Eileen…”

Sam turned in his spot so he was facing Dean. “Are you seriously worried I’ll leave you for her?”

Dean didn’t answer immediately. He blinked, averted his gaze, the top of his ears turning pink. “Yes?”

Sam sighed. “Dean. Hey, look at me.”

Dean met his gaze, steady and with a sheepish smile. 

“You said you didn’t know what was real,” Sam murmured. “I should have caught on sooner, but… I honestly thought you were kidding about Eileen. So… I'm sorry.”

Dean frowned a little. “For what?”

Sam didn't give him time to react, just leaned in and kissed him. The angle was awkward, the door was probably unlocked, and it was terrible timing because they were in the middle of a sort of crisis- but Dean shuddered, grip tightening, and Sam sighed in relief at how calm he suddenly felt. 

He broke away first, if only because he had to say something. “We’re real,” he spoke the words quietly into the sparse air between them. “This, us… Doesn’t matter if he wrote it or not, doesn't matter if he planned this or not. What I feel… For you… And what I _know_ you feel for me; it's the realest thing about us.”

“You sure?” Dean sounded insecure. 

It made Sam feel foolish and guilty for not noticing sooner. “Yeah. I’m sure. You and me- it’s all us.” He didn’t know if he really believed himself or not, but _Dean_ believed him. For now, that was all that mattered. 


	316. Disillusioned - The Trap

“I kissed Eileen.”

Dean paused in the act of opening his beer. He mulled over the words for a few seconds, then took a sip. “Okay.”

Sam blinked slowly. “That… That’s it?”

“What? I’m being an adult and trusting you had perfectly honorable intentions.”

“Dean.”

Dean sighed. “You said Chuck has been messing with her for some time now. And she spent the better part of an evening forced to stick a scalpel into you. And I know _you_ , okay? You wanted to make her feel like she had some choice, like she’d been in control for even just a part of it. And…” He hesitated for a second, not really so confident about his own beliefs. But he reached across the table, gripping Sam’s wrist. “And yesterday, you told me that we were real. And you need to hear the same thing from me now.” He shifted his grip to Sam’s palm. Instead of digging his nail in, though, he stroked the rough skin, running his thumb along the lifelines. 

“Dean…”

“Sam.” Dean waited for Sam to look at him. “This is real. _We’re_ real,” he repeated the words Sam had said to him, put every ounce of conviction in them that he could. 

Sam closed his eyes. “Okay.”

Dean’s worry rose at the subdued reply. “Come on, Sasquatch. Let’s go to bed.”

“I… I don’t think… I can’t…”

“I know. God, Sam, look at yourself.” Dean stood, tugged Sam to his feet. 

Sam stood firm, but he looked small, delicate, despite his overgrown size. 

“You’ve barely stopped shaking since we left that place,” Dean scolded. “So even if you can’t sleep, you’re sure as hell not going to sit in the library and let your mind run off to wherever.”

Sam tried for a smile- it was pitiable. But... Well, at least he tried. 


	317. Out Of Luck - The Heroes' Journey

Despite his instinct to go out and keep searching for a way to defeat Chuck and Lilith, Cas decided to stay in the bunker a while longer. Whether Sam and Dean needed the company or not, he really did. And while Dean had put up a token protest and scowled, Sam had smiled and told him that he was free to pick a room. 

However, after a week, Cas began to slowly realize that something was… Amiss. Different. As both men recovered from their respective mental anguish, certain oddities became more noticeable. With nothing else to do _(no Jack to look after)_ , Cas took careful note of them all:

  1. Dean was in Sam’s room more often than his own. 
  2. Both of them sometimes disappeared for several long minutes and reappeared with no explanation and slightly rumpled clothing.
  3. On some mornings, Dean would seem to be noticeably more bow-legged than usual. 
  4. Sam, very uncharacteristically, looked smug at times, which, oddly enough, coincided with the periods of increased stiffness on Dean’s part. 



Cas got the inkling that he should know what all this meant, but… It couldn’t be. Because they would have told him, right? 

In the end, Cas only caught them because of a stroke of bad luck for the Winchesters.

He was left alone in the war room, poring over lore. It occurred to him that there was a book in the downstairs archive that might possibly contain what he was looking for. 

As he walked down the stairs, he heard wordless murmurs. That was odd- he was quite sure Sam and Dean had gone to bed. So, then… 

No, that groan was definitely Dean’s. And that breathless exhale was Sam’s; Cas had healed them from grievous injuries enough times to be sure and his superior hearing was further confirmation.

Unsure of why exactly he was being stealthy, he carefully peeked around the corner.

Sam and Dean were… The desk… Their clothes… Oh.

_ Oh.  _

Alright. 

Dean shuddered and Sam laughed, “You’re so easy sometimes.”

No, this was really not something he wanted to see. Cas went back upstairs. He was happy for them, really. It had taken them long enough and they absolutely deserved each other.

He ignored the little stab of hurt it caused. Odd, that he even felt it, really. He’d spent little more than a decade knowing that Sam and Dean would join together in every last way possible, no matter how long it took. It shouldn't hurt. 

And yet… 

Masochism must be a rather human trait, because the next morning, Cas couldn't stop himself from commenting, “So you finally took my advice, I see.”

Sam frowned at the non-sequitur. “What advice?”

Cas raised an eyebrow and gestured to him and Dean. “The day we first met, I told you that consummating your relationship with your brother would strengthen your bond.”

Their reactions were interesting. Sam choked on his coffee; Dean tripped over his own two feet as he whirled around to stare in horror. 

Cas calmly turned the page of his book. A part of him wanted to keep quiet and forget all of this. The bigger part of him just wanted to know. “Now, my only two questions are: when did you start being sexually intimate and, more importantly, why did I not know?” He paused, another thought occurring. “Oh, and, how many people found out before me?”

The panic on their faces as they stumbled over each other to explain themselves was fairly satisfying. Turned out, Dean had been right about this too: humor was a fairly easy way to forget the pain. 


	318. Time Flies - The Gamblers

Dean practically skipped towards the car, beaming like sunshine as held up his takeaway burgers. 

Sam slapped handcuffs on him as soon as he got close enough. 

Dean stopped, barely fazed as he looked down at his bound wrists. “Kinky. But can you wait till we get home?”

Sam handed him a lock pick. “Testing. Try to get yourself out.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he took the picks and freed himself under sixty seconds. “Guess it’s really all back then!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed in relief. “You know I’ve been afraid to get too close to you? Just in case we really did kill each other by accident.”

Dean snorted. “Wish I could see the look on Chuck’s face if that actually happened.”

Sam looked sharply at him. “Don’t even.”

Dean raised his hands in defense. “Sorry. But hey! Double cheeseburgers!” He crowed. 

“Tell me you got my salad.”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course, I did,” Dean said, in a voice that could only be described as a purr, despite the goofy smile and jubilant eyes. “I would never neglect you like that.”

Sam was careful not to laugh. “I think you’re confusing me with the car, Dean.”

Dean huffed and patted the hood of the Impala, still grinning. “Don’t listen to him, Baby, you know you’re the only one for me.”

Sam couldn’t help kissing the cocky smile off his face, feeling better and lighter than he had in a week. As he broke away, he picked the car keys from Dean’s back pocket. “I'll drive and eat later. Come on.”

As they slid into the car, Dean stalled him with a hand over his wrist. “You’re good now, right?” His eyes searched Sam’s face. 

Sam patted his hand. “We’re good,” he affirmed. “Right now, my biggest concern is whether or not Cas is still mad that Crowley, of all people, had found out about us before he could.”

Dean chuckled. “Come on, in our defense- we never wanted  _ anyone _ to find out. They just… Caught us.”

“They were bound to,” Sam said with a nod. “In fact, considering your lack of subtlety, I’m surprised Cas didn’t notice immediately.”

“I’m sorry,  _ my _ lack of subtlety?” Dean sounded completely offended. 

Sam raised an eyebrow and gave him an amused look. “Well, yeah, Dean, you’re a very publicly possessive person.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, looking down at the hand he had on Sam’s thigh, having placed it there completely unconsciously. After a few seconds of contemplation, he shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. Can you blame me though?”

Sam looked out his window to hide his delight. Dean in his twenties would have reacted to that statement with a scoff and a lewd comment. Dean at forty just… 

Moments like this, Sam didn’t care what catastrophe they were currently dealing with- he was happy to be alive, with his brother right beside him. 

“Oh, just to test our luck-” Dean waved his hand excitedly, something clenched in his fist. “-scratch tickets, Sammy!”

Sam just laughed and pointed the car home. 


	319. Original High - Galaxy Brain

“I’ll, uh, just go and check on Jack,” Sam mumbled. 

Dean waited till he was definitely out of earshot, because this wasn’t a topic Sam liked, but it needed to be discussed, and Dean wasn’t going to put him through that. He turned to Cas. “You know what this is reminding me of, right?”

Cas looked confused for about two seconds, before nodding. “You’re afraid Jack might get addicted to Grigori hearts,” he confirmed. “Like Sam… To demon blood.”

Dean rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “That’s not irrational, right?” He asked. “Sam always explained it as the power and the control that kept him going back, not the blood itself. What if Jack is affected the same way? We’d have a whole new problem on our hands, man, and I don’t think we can- I can’t lock him up again.” 

Cas, at least, looked mollified at the admission. “Addiction comes from a soul,” he mused. “And a human body’s natural instincts. Jack doesn’t have a soul, neither is his body fully human.”

“You’re saying there’s no risk?”

“Well… I’m saying there’s very little risk.”

Dean leveled a flat look at him. “Very assuring.”

Cas nodded. “You’re welcome."


	320. Hearts And Souls - Destiny's Child

Jack was trembling, body wracked with sobs as he seemed torn between staring up at them and hiding his face in his hands. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Jack, look-”

Jack flinched. 

That was what made Sam click into motion. Throwing a pleading glance at Dean, he gingerly sat next to the kid. “Jack,” he started to say, then stopped.

He looked up at Cas with silent request. 

Cas sighed, but nodded and left the room. Dean, with a last look full of worry and apology, followed him out. 

Jack continued to cry, stifling his sobs, and it hit Sam all over again that, for all his powers, he was still just a kid. He was barely three! And to be hit with all his emotions at once like this, along with his soul- he was going to be haywire for some time. 

“Jack,” he said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jack jerked upright, staring at him. 

“It wasn’t,” Sam insisted. “Not entirely. You didn’t have a soul. And that was because you saved us.” He placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You didn’t have a clue how to control your emotions. You could barely understand them.”

“So- so, you’re not- you’re not mad?” Jack sounded confused. 

Sam debated with himself for a moment, then settled on the truth. “I’d be a hypocrite if I was,” he said gently. “I’m sad, I miss her, I loved her. She was our mom. But I’m not mad at you for something you couldn’t control, Jack.”

Jack wiped his face, breath hitching. “Would… Mary… Forgive me?”

Sam smiled a little. “I don’t think she would have ever blamed you.”

“And… Dean?”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s not mad, not anymore,” he muttered. “But… He’ll take time coming around.”

Jack’s face crumpled. “Sam… I’m really sorry.”

Sam shut his eyes, heart clenching painfully as he tugged the boy into a loose hug. “I know,” he said gently. “It’s okay, Jack.”


	321. Date Night - Last Holiday

“Hey.” Dean found Sam in the boiler room, standing on a chair as he inspected the broken pipes. “I found this spell in one of the manuals. I think it’ll work to repair all this.”

Sam hopped down, looked over the page held up. “Yeah, that’ll work. I mean, it won’t be as strong as Mrs B's magic, but…” He glanced at the panels, where the Standby button was glowing. “It’ll be the best it can be on Standby, just like back when we found it.”

“That’s good enough for us.” He held out a bowl of ingredients. “Mix,” he instructed. “So, how’d your ‘ _date_ ' with Eileen go?” He hated that he still felt a little jealous at the thought of her and Sam hanging out for an entire evening. Sure, she’d only wanted a chance to catch up with a friend, but… Dean was possessive to his core. 

“It was fine,” Sam said with a shrug. “We sat six feet apart, talked things out, had some of her Irish whiskey to get rid of the awkwardness, then binged the Matrix films.”

Dean shook his head in mock disappointment and some perverse smugness. “Very romantic,” he teased. 

Sam’s eyes were a little too soft when they glanced up from the bowl. “You know you could have called me, right? You should have.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean admitted. “I just… We all need a break sometimes. And we- _especially_ you- hardly get out of the bunker for something other than hunts.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I figured you’d be back soon enough and I was right.”

Sam looked back at his spell. “Still… Just call me.”

Dean hummed absently. “Hey, how’d you think Mrs B would have reacted if she’d found out about us?”

“I don’t want to think about that. Bad enough that you actually _flashed_ me in front of her.” Sam shuddered. “Just that face she makes, all disappointed and stuff.”

“Yeah. Makes you wanna make it up to her somehow. She even got _you_ to dress up.” He waved a hand in Sam’s general direction, shaking his head in wonder. “Then again, she thought you needed to get laid.”

“Real question is: which part would have freaked her out worse,” Sam mused. “The gay part or the incest part?”

Dean gave a surprised bark of laughter at the deadpan. 

Sam’s mouth twisted into a poorly restrained smile. He looked up at the pipes. Reciting the spell, the control panel began to glow. The light of the Standby button got stronger. Creaks and groans echoed around them- the sounds of old machinery resetting themselves. 

Dean turned to Sam. “You wanna check if the water pressure in the showers is back to normal?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Insatiable,” he muttered.

Dean didn’t bother with a comeback to that because, while neither of them had felt very comfortable sleeping in separate rooms again, sharing one while Mrs Butters was with them had seemed worse, so now they were both pretty pent up. He just grinned at Sam instead and led the way to showers, feeling weirdly happy and at ease. 

“Oh, hey, I forgot to ask,” Sam started. “How did you and Jack manage to get out of the dungeon?”

Dean paused mid-step. “Oh. Uh…” He gave him a sheepish look. “Why don’t I tell you about that afterwards?”

Suspicion grew on his face, but he didn’t fight Dean’s pull and that counted as a win. 


	322. List Of Priorities - Gimme Shelter

Dean had closed his eyes, holding the glass of whiskey to his temple like it might actually ease his mind. “How long has he known?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe only recently. Maybe even before he was revived from the Empty.” He paused. “I wanted to tell you both together, but…”

“No, I’ll talk to Sammy,” Dean assured, opening his eyes with a sigh. “He’s not gonna take this well.”

Cas didn’t bother hiding the grit of his teeth. “And you are?” He demanded. 

Dean clenched his jaw. “Why does everyone assume I don’t give a crap?” He snapped. “The kid’s barely three, you think I  _ want _ him to die?”

“Of course not,” Cas agreed, voice hard. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re accepting it so easily.”

“Because we don’t have a choice, dammit!” Dean’s hand was fisted on the table, eyes dark and aflame. 

Cas felt a sudden, deep sorrow. “You won’t even try to fight it,” he said, quietly now. 

Guilt flashed across Dean’s features, before it was replaced by determination. “Because while you’re off in the middle of nowhere and Sam’s neck-deep in the lore to find another way, someone needs to be with Jack to be ready for whatever Billie’s next step is. Because if Jack’s going to kill himself for us, for this world, then I’m not leaving him alone for the last lap. Because-”

“Because as long as you and Sam are together at the end of it, you’re willing to look the other way and accept whatever price has to be paid,” Cas finished for him. 

This time, there wasn’t a hint of shame or repentance on Dean’s face, only a stubborn, almost manic, resolve that broke Cas' heart. 

“Tell Sam soon,” he requested softly, getting to his feet. He knew better than to think that either Winchester would put anyone before his brother, but at least Sam would wholeheartedly try to save Jack. 


	323. Poison And Wine - Drag Me Away (From You)

Sam didn’t wait for Dean. As soon as the car rolled to a stop after a completely silent drive, he jumped out, grabbed his duffel, and walked up the stairs. 

He could hear Dean behind him, boots clanging heavily on the metal steps. He ignored them, focusing instead on how the Bunker was completely silent. Jack must be in his room.

Sam dumped his bag on the map table and pulled out his phone. 

Cas answered immediately. “ _Sam_.” His voice was grave. 

“You should have told me,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he could feel approaching. He wondered if it was stress or whether he was now old enough to need glasses. 

He could see Dean out of the corner of his eye, movements wary like he thought Sam might explode. It would have made him feel bad for getting so angry if he wasn’t also hurt.

Cas' sigh was loud in his ear. “ _I thought it might be easier for you to hear it from Dean_.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, that went fantastic.”

Dean scowled- Sam was careful not to give him a glance. 

“ _What are you going to do?_ ” Cas asked. 

“There’s an Enochian section in the library downstairs,” Sam said. “I’ve never looked at anything there, but I’ll start now.”

“ _Sam, reading Enochian will-_ ” 

“I know,” Sam cut him off. “But if it helps…”

“ _I know_ ,” Cas agreed. “ _Is Dean…?_ ”

Sam shot a glare at his brother. “Count him out. We're on our own for this.”

Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling. Considering their enemy, what help did he expect to find in that direction anyway? 

Sam bid goodbye to Cas and immediately started in the direction of the library. Dean came after him, silent, waiting for a crack in Sam’s resolve. 

But Sam stopped in his tracks. 

Jack was in the library, sleeping like he so rarely did, curled up into that one armchair that only fit him. There was a book held loosely in his hand, fingers twitching against the cover as he dreamt. 

“Look at him,” Sam whispered. “Look at him and tell me you’re okay with marching him to his death.”

“Given the circumstances,” Dean replied without missing a beat. “Yeah, I am. And so should you be.”

“Well, this isn’t the right circumstances.”

Dean let out a disbelieving laugh. “Saving the world isn’t enough for you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. It hasn’t been for a long time. What point is there in saving the world if we can’t save it the right way? And sacrificing someone we love is not it.” He turned a flat gaze upon Dean. “And you should know that,” he reminded, thinking back to when Dean had been raring to drown himself for the sake of the world. Sam had stopped him then too. 

Dean seemed to be remembering the same thing. But he shook his head. “Maybe you’re right. But we don’t have a choice.”

“So says Billie,” Sam shot back. “Who, by the way, has always had it in for us.”

Dean swore under his breath. “Just this once, can’t we take the solution as it is and not go looking for holes to poke in it?” He hissed. 

Sam gave him a look that was close to pity. “You're lying to yourself if you think there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong with Billie’s plan. And if you really believe that she’s 100 percent genuine, then you’re being naïve too.”

For a second, Dean looked like he wanted to hit him. But he shook his head, taking a step back as he dragged a hand down his face. The library suddenly seemed a lot quieter without their angry whispering. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Dean said tiredly. “You…” He sighed and walked away without ever finishing. 

Sam watched him go, feeling a knot in his chest that was making it hard to breathe. He looked at Jack. It only made his heart clench. 

He had to believe there was another way. He had to. 


	324. Rising Tension - Unity

Dean stared at his own hands on the steering wheel. Besides him, Jack was quiet. Dean wanted to say something before they reached the address given by Billie, something that would make up for what the kid had overheard back home. 

_ Jack’s not family _ . Dean hadn’t changed his stance on that, not really. He did care about Jack, more than Sam or Cas seemed to understand he was capable of. But Jack… Wasn’t either of them. Wasn’t Sam. 

“You don’t have to feel sorry,” Jack said. 

Dean started. “Kid…”

“No, I mean-” Jack shook his head. “-you don’t want to kill me. I know that. That’s not who you are. But you’ll do it, because it’s for Sam.” He paused, then nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t want to die. But I’ll do it, because it’s for Cas. It’s for you and Sam.”

Dean closed his eyes for as long as he dared while driving. “Jack.” His voice was strangled. He didn’t know what to say, what would make this right. Sam always knew the right words, but Dean had always relied on actions more. 

But before he could figure something out, Jack pointed out the windshield. “Right there. That’s where we have to go.”

_On the way back_ , Dean promised himself. On the way back, he’d make things right with Jack.


	325. Sounds Of Silence - Despair

Sam was driving recklessly; he knew he was. Beside him, Jack was white-faced, clutching the door handle in terror. 

Sam tossed him his phone with one hand. “Call Dean again,” he ordered, voice low and hard. 

Jack fumbled, but did as told, putting the phone on speaker. The dial tone echoed through the car without end. Sam could hear his own heart beating in time with it. 

_ The number you are calling is not taking any calls. Please try- _

“Try Cas.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jack’s trembling fingers tapping over the screen. It made him think of Charlie’s shivering hands as she talked about her girlfriend. It made him think of the shake in Donna’s voice as she uttered his name. And Bobby’s last shuddering breath. 

_ The number you are calling is not available. Please try- _

Sam let out a frustrated growl, punching the steering wheel lightly. His vision swam with fear, the road ahead replaced by images of Dean turning into smoke, whisked away by another cruel entity without Sam there. Alone, in the empty bunker, with no one but Cas-

His phone rang. 

“It’s Dean!” Jack gasped, voice shot through with relief. 

Sam practically snatched it back. “Dean!” He half-yelled. “Dean, what the hell, why didn’t you pick up, what’s-?”

“ _ Sammy _ .”

Sam’s words stumbled to a stop. “Dean?”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but hitched breathing.

“Dean?” Sam repeated. “Are you okay?”

“ _ You’re okay _ ,” Dean breathed out hoarsely. There was an audible swallow. “ _ Where are you? _ ”

Sam blinked at the sudden firmness of his tone. “Uh… We’re approaching Minnesota. Dean, what-?”

_ “Meet me in Hastings. Be careful, Sammy.” _

The call ended. 

Jack looked pensive, worried. 

Sam felt the same. He opened his mouth to say something, something to console him. 

But what was there to say? 


	326. Choice - Inherit The Earth

They sat in the darkness for a long time, the car parked in front of a random building. Random only because it no longer mattered- everything was empty anyway. 

Dean could feel Sam’s hand trembling in his own, entwined on the seat between them. He wasn't surprised when the silence finally broke. 

“Maybe, maybe if we…” Sam's voice was hoarse. “If we give him what we want… He'll fix it. He'll bring them back.”

Dean couldn’t turn to look at him; he knew Sam hadn’t turned either. “Isn’t that a little…?” He trailed off. The word  _ optimistic _ came to mind, but it didn’t really fit.  _ Desperate _ was more accurate. 

“We have to try,” Sam said- pleaded, actually. “Dean, we, we can’t, we…” He broke off, taking a deep breath. “They were all depending on _us_ ,” he said, quiet again. “Even when they knew they were going to die, they expected me to save them. I can’t…” A hitched breath. “I can’t live with that, Dean. I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but I _can’t_.”

Dean almost asked why Sam was apologizing, but he actually understood. They’d never needed anyone except each other, but even together, they weren’t strong enough to shoulder the guilt of an entire planet’s downfall. 

What was that quote?  _ Not with a bang, but with a whimper…  _ Ironically correct. 

“Dean?”

“Cas died to save me,” Dean told him, his own voice rougher than it should be. “He died happy. Happy because…” Even now, he couldn’t quite say the words, couldn’t put voice to Cas' confession yet. 

But Sam understood- he’d understood immediately, without needing to hear the details- and all he did was squeeze Dean’s hand. 

“I get it,” Dean finished. “We can’t live like this. If surrendering to Chuck is what brings everyone back, then we do it.”

Sam nodded. “How do we...?” He hesitated, the concept too much for him to say out loud. 

Dean had no argument. “He can choose. But-” he fixed Sam with a glare, finally looking at him. “-if it’s me who has to do it, I’m following right after.” Though a part of him wondered: what if he couldn't take even the first step?

Sam nodded fast. “Same,” he whispered. 

They got out of the car together. 

“Uh, do you wanna-?”

Dean wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, but it made Sam cut himself off. 

“Okay. I’ll call him.” Sam looked around them, taking in the darkness that blanketed everything and the streetlights that shone on them. Then he leaned forward, grabbing Dean’s jacket, and kissed him hard, but somehow still chaste. 

Before Dean could respond, Sam moved back, blinking fast. Leaning against the bumper, he closed his eyes, and prayed- if it could be called that. 

Dean mimicked his position and watched him. 


	327. Once Upon A Time... - Carry On

Sometimes, Sam had nightmares- watching Dean bleed out too fast to say anything, watching himself shut a door in Dean’s face with cruel words of rejection. Sometimes, the dreams were good- slapping each other’s hands over the cassette tapes, trading quick kisses while passing each other in the bunker’s halls, the frustrated growl that always came after a game of rock, paper, scissors. 

Sometimes, he caught himself clenching his hand around empty air, reaching out without thought, searching for Dean’s warmth. Sometimes, the back of his neck prickled and he could swear he felt the brush of calloused fingertips against his skin.

Sometimes, he woke up and expected to find Dean tucked into his side. Sometimes, he went to sleep wishing he could forget the coldness of Dean’s unresponsive lips as he’d pressed a last kiss to them. 

Sometimes, Sam felt like he was in a trance. He woke up, went through the motions, went to sleep, and repeat. Dean's words would be on a constant loop in his head:  _ I'm so proud of you... I was so scared… It’s always been you… My baby brother… _

“Dad!”

Sam blinked, catching the ball in time. And sometimes, there were moments like these- when reality hit with the reminder of the best thing in his life right now.

“You’re not paying attention,” DJ scolded- he absolutely refused to answer to  _ ‘Dean' _ and Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the very familiar stubbornness. 

“Okay, okay, sorry!” Sam held a hand up in surrender. “Got distracted.”

DJ huffed and flopped down on to the grass, whistling for Miracle. 

Sam joined him, the two of them soaking up the sun for a few minutes. 

“I snuck into your room while you were out,” DJ said conversationally. 

Sam internally rolled his eyes, looking over at the house. It hadn't even been a week since they moved in and he had yet to set his corner up. Lore books, weapons, hex bags and everything else was scattered around; hence the instructions to stay out of there. 

“I told you not to,” he scolded mildly, stroking Miracle's corn-silk fur. 

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “That’s why I did.”

Eight years old and too much like Sam. Was this how Dean had felt when they were kids? 

“Alright. What did you wanna ask?”

DJ narrowed his eyes in suspicion. 

Sam smiled, a little smug. “Come on. You wouldn't have confessed, if you didn't have a question.”

DJ hesitated. “I found a bunch of photos. You and another guy.”

Sam felt his heart speed up. Memories flashed through his mind- the scent of leather, a rakish grin, a steady hand- though they were never really that far from his thoughts. 

“Who is he, Dad?”

What was he supposed to answer to that?  _ Your uncle? Your other dad, if he'd been here? _ Sam thought wildly.  _ My brother? My lover?  _

“Da-ad!”

“He's- he was my partner,” Sam finally replied. “Dean. You were named after him.”

DJ frowned. “Partner?” He asked inquisitively. 

Sam nodded. “Means we did everything together. We spent our whole lives together.”

“So, is that why you wear his ring?”

Sam did a double take. After leaving the bunker, carrying too many things of Dean’s, he’d come across the old amulet he’d gifted to him almost a lifetime ago, the one Dean had thrown and broken his heart by, the one Sam had kept for years in secret. Still a little in awe that Dean had kept it after that day Chuck revealed himself, he’d almost put it on himself, but somehow, it hadn’t felt right. So, after a lot of careful thought and agonization, he’d had the bronze melted down and made into a ring. But he’d never told that to anyone.

“How'd you know it was his?” He questioned. 

The kid shrugged.

Sam couldn't resist ruffling his hair. “Yeah, it was.”

DJ nodded, but he still looked thoughtful. “So is that why I don't have a mom?”

Sam bit back a groan, silently apologizing for all the times he'd bugged Dean with difficult questions. “Sort of,” he said carefully, unsure how to explain  _ I couldn't look at another person ever again after being with my brother _ to a child. “I'll explain it better when you're older.”

Blue eyes narrowed sharply. “How much older?" He asked testily. 

Sam just smiled. His patience, which had outlasted his brother's stubbornness over their domestics, came in handy with a kid. 

Sure enough, DJ huffed and got to his feet. “I'm hungry,” he stated plaintively. “Can we have lunch now?”

Sam looked over at the house. Eileen was visiting and she was tired from her night of driving. She was probably ready for lunch too. “Go on in. I'll be there in a minute.”

DJ started to run. 

“Woah, woah, woah! DJ!” Sam waited for him to turn around, giving his son a pointed look. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

With an annoyed scowl, DJ jogged back, picked up the ball, and then went back to the house. 

Sam sat there, tilting his head up to the sun.

Sometimes, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut that last day, hadn’t brought up anything to do with cases; maybe then they would have had so much longer with each other than the one blissful year they got after defeating Chuck. Sometimes, he wished he’d tuned out Dean’s breathless pleas and dragged him to the hospital or found a way to save him. 

Some days, all he could think about were Dean’s tears, his last breath warm against Sam’s lips and his heartbeat faltering under Sam's palm, both their hands clasped together, wet with blood, the moment over too fast for Sam to say all the important things. Those days were bad and all he wanted was to give up, to sit in the Impala for hours and maybe drive it off a cliff. Too much of him had died a long time ago anyway, that night in the barn.

Other days- on days like this- he looked at his son and remembered he could still make Dean proud of him one last time, as proud as he’d promised he’d always been, simply by living out the rest of his life. 

He was happy, he reminded himself. He just happened to be sad too. And those two things had never negated each other, not for him, at least. 

Sam twisted the ring on his finger, the metal skin-warm. The watch on his wrist was Dean’s too, had his initials carved into the back of the dial. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to take either of them off. 

_ You're such a sap, Sammy _ . Dean’s face was crystal-clear in his head, green eyes shining with amusement and mouth curved up in a fond grin.

“Shut up,” Sam murmured, thankful that no one was around to hear him talking to empty air, but not really caring either way.  With a last sad smile to the sky, he got up and walked back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of the Samulet being melted into Sam's ring was a great idea from @Arimus (discord) so- thanks to them :)


	328. Heaven Is A Home With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I couldn't leave it at the previous chapter, without writing about Sam and Dean's reunion, could I?

They stood on the bridge until the sun started to set. Or maybe it was the other way around. They got into the car together. Dean drove and Sam talked. 

Sam talked and talked and talked, about his life, about his son, about his job, words trailing off every now and then as he seemed to just stare at Dean, like he was still trying to convince himself that this was real. Dean listened and glanced back, smiling all the way, because… Well, how could he not? 

Everything seemed tinted a warm orange-gold, his amulet- the real one that Sam had gifted him a lifetime ago- hanging from the rearview mirror, Sam’s hand a steady weight on his thigh, his own arm stretched along the backrest so his fingers idly played with Sam’s hair.

The sun kept setting until they stopped driving. The drive didn’t end until Sam’s stories did and when they parked out in front of a cabin that seemed a cross between Bobby’s old home and Rufus' safe-house, it was nighttime without warning.

“Everyone is here, you know,” Dean told him, faux-casual. “We should go meet them.”

“Later,” Sam said with a nod and it gave Dean a secret thrill of possessiveness.

“How long has it been for you? Up here?” Sam asked once they were inside the house, had tentatively shed jackets and flannels. 

Dean barely gave it a thought as he looked up at the night sky through the window. “Don’t really know, but…” He shrugged. “Long enough.” He looked at Sam, who stood right behind him, chin tucked on his shoulder, but still keeping space between their bodies, like he wanted to be closer but was too hesitant to close the distance. “What about you?”

“Too long,” Sam replied, fervent and heartbreakingly sincere, squeezing Dean’s hips. 

Dean wanted to kiss him. So he did.

Sam was tentative, lips trembling as Dean parted them with his tongue. Dean smiled into it, twisting his fingers into thick hair and tugging teasingly. Sam shuddered, visibly overwhelmed after so much time apart. He broke away, eyes wide and full of conflicting emotions. 

Dean had barely felt time passing at all, but he understood anyway. He let the moment linger, skimming his lips along Sam’s jaw and down the soft skin of his neck. "I missed you," he whispered into the hollow of Sam’s throat, like it was a secret, except for how it really wasn’t.

Sam tilted his head, looking at him with a hungry, almost desperate, gaze. “Dean,” he said softly, hurriedly. “What you said, when you- I mean, about that night you came to get me, at Stanford- I just wanted to tell you... I mean, I just..."

"Slow down, tiger," Dean couldn't help soothe teasingly. "We got time."

Sam swallowed. “You said you were scared that night, that I’d send you off on your own,” Sam said quietly, voice thick and words fast after who knew how many years of waiting to say them. “I'm sorry for that, sorry I ever let you think like that. And... But you weren’t alone in that. I spent… So long, terrified that I’d never be good enough for you. That, one day, you’d…” He paused, knuckles brushing down Dean’s cheek, fingers shaking. “You’d realize I wasn’t worth it.”

The last words were a whisper and Dean was shaking his head before he knew he was doing it. 

“You've always been it for me, Sammy,” he murmured into the sparse space between them, fingers curling tighter around the back of Sam’s neck. “Best damn thing in my whole life, always.”

For a long moment, Sam just gazed at Dean, lips moving soundlessly as he cupped his face; his palms were smooth now, rid of all the callouses and even that one stupid scar, but still strong. His thumbs stroked the soft skin beneath Dean’s eyes, following the crow’s feet and connecting the freckles. “I’m sorry I couldn't say it back that day,” he mumbled.

“You didn’t have to,” Dean assured, but his heart sped up and his toes curled in anticipation of the words. 

Sam shook his head. “I love you,” he said softly, quiet and sweet, finally being the first to move, kissing him, and pouring the words into Dean’s mouth, like he wanted to drown him in the sentiment. “I love you, Dean.”

“Sammy…” Dean breathed out, a feeling of completeness washing over him. He gripped Sam’s wrists, pulling him impossibly closer, until all he could see were Sam’s bright eyes, all he could feel were Sam’s warmth and the beat of his heart, until they were breathing each other in, that familiar scent of Sam’s shampoo and gun oil. It was almost like that night he’d died- so many years ago- just a day ago- but so less painful, so much sweeter, no blood or sweat, just magnetic closeness, and… Dean had never wanted anything more than this. 

_This_ \- he reflected, as their kiss grew deeper and more heated, Sam relearning everything and Dean giving silent assurance- _is finally perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to every single one of you guys, for sticking with this story all the way. I wouldn't have been able to finish this without your support. XD

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: kassyscarlett


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